


This Is Why I Don't Write Romance by R.B Banner

by im95notdead



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, And a Good Helping of Angst, Bruce's anger issues are toned down to like a strong 4, Deaf Clint Barton, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/F, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, author Bruce, campus security guard Clint, college professor Bruce, this story is -mostly- fluffy, with a healthy dose of anxious Bruce
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-20
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-17 03:21:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 110,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29586456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/im95notdead/pseuds/im95notdead
Summary: Bruce Banner is your average, awkward but beloved English professor who also happens to be a best-selling author. He normally takes his inspiration from those around him but what happens when his latest muse isn't quite flattered by Bruce's stalker-esque behavior?
Relationships: Bruce Banner/Clint Barton, James "Bucky" Barnes/Sam Wilson, Okoye/Natasha Romanov, Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Comments: 49
Kudos: 69





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I have no notes other than my usual thank you to redhead_robin for being my ever-loyal beta and enduring the many rewrites I went through.  
> Enjoy!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Run-of-the-mill writer’s block?” Tony asked.
> 
> “I guess. I get one good idea and then two bad ones,” Bruce sighed.

“Ugh,” Bruce grunted, his notebook landing with a loud _splack_ as it hit the far wall and slid to the floor, falling open to the same blank page Bruce had been staring at for the past three hours. 

He swiveled in his chair to glare at the innocent book, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger as he took deep breaths to calm himself. 

Three hours. Three hours with absolutely nothing to show for it. He slumped back into his chair and sighed heavily. 

It was time for a brain break. 

He pushed himself up and stretched, listening to what seemed like every single one of his joints pop and crack as though he had aged an extra twenty years since sitting down. 

He went into the kitchen and scratched his head, squinting as he tried to remember the last time he ate and what it was. He knew there was a good chance he was only going to remember one of those things and he felt like he vaguely recalled toast. He couldn’t even remember anything being on the toast but that wasn’t out of the ordinary for him. 

The back of his eyes were aching, indicating the looming threat of a headache. He considered taking some aspirin but his stomach was almost as empty as his brain. Maybe if he filled his stomach, his brain would start working again. 

He took his glasses off and tucked them away into his unruly curls, knowing full well that he would curse himself later when he put them back on all dirty and smudged from his greasy hair. 

Hm. 

He grabbed at his shirt, taking a whiff. Okay, maybe he could do with a shower and a hair wash. After food, though. 

He searched his embarrassingly barren pantry and fridge for anything he could put together to create something resembling a meal.

The sad part was that Bruce was a decent cook when his kitchen was actually stocked. He’d spent four years in Brazil and then a couple months in Mexico teaching English. He hadn’t mastered the cuisines but he could make a mean _mole_ or _moqueca capixaba_ if he took the time. 

Unfortunately, Bruce wasn’t currently living in the headspace that reminded him to shop for groceries. Or bathe. 

“Or clean,” he added out loud because he lived alone and was fully entitled to talk to himself. He looked around and noticed the dishes in the sink and then, leaning back, he peered into the living room and saw the papers strewn aimlessly around the room, covering the floor and coffee table. 

He lifted his arm to check the time only to realize he wasn’t wearing his watch and by the time he found his phone to see that it had actually been a lot longer than three hours and he had a couple missed calls, there was a knock on the door followed immediately by the door opening. 

Bruce sighed, he really only had the one friend who made house calls. 

“It’s been nearly twelve hours and you haven’t returned a single call or text and I know that for whatever inexplicable reason you like to think _I’m_ the annoying one in this friendship but—what the hell, Bruce? Did a tornado rip through here? Did you say hi to Dorothy?” Tony said, coming into the apartment in a faded band tee and a pair of old, worn jeans, carrying a bag in either hand and a mouth-watering smell wafted into the apartment. 

Tony kicked the door shut with his foot and sat the bags down on the coffee table. He put his hands on his hips and looked around, bringing one hand up to his chin. 

“So, uh, new book I take it?” 

Bruce nodded, letting out a sigh. “Is it that obvious?” 

Bruce was a relatively tidy man. Except for when he was trying to write. Well, Bruce was a tidy man until anything grabbed his focus. 

But when it was time to write all unnecessary things like socializing and tidying fell by the wayside to make room for The Creative Process. Honestly, he hated that phrase but it was the best way to describe it. 

“Oh, well,” Tony began, glancing at the television that Bruce had let play the online shopping channel for god knows how long and then stepping over a pile of precariously stacked books on various topics as he made his way to the kitchen, “I mean I can still see the floor. In some places. And you know, you don’t stink.” 

“I do.” 

Tony wrinkled his nose. “Disgusting. Why would you admit that? Anyway, I figured—and by ‘I’ I mean Rhodey pointed out to me over FaceTime—that you probably haven’t eaten anything while holing yourself up, so I come bearing Chinese food.” 

“You’re a godsend, Tony,” Bruce admitted, collapsing on the couch and digging hungrily into the bags. “I was just deciding between boiled water with pepper or a glass of milk.” 

“Bruce,” Tony said, coming back with napkins to plop down beside Bruce but putting a little space between them since Bruce had confessed to having a less than savory odor coming from him, “remember who this is coming from when I say you’re a mess and you need a seventy-two hour nap and a bath. Bath first. Also, lock your door. This isn’t Canada.” 

“Yeah,” Bruce said, scrubbing a hand over his overgrown beard. “I know. I just… I’m stuck.” 

“Run-of-the-mill writer’s block?” he asked, opening a container of cashew chicken with broccoli and digging in while Bruce found his favorite, Kung Pao chicken. 

“I guess. I get one good idea and then two bad ones.” 

“That’s still one good one.” 

“Yeah but then I overthink it until I hate it too.” 

“I can see how that would be a problem.” 

“Can you?” Bruce snapped, rubbing his eye with the back of his wrist. The headache was fully formed now, epi-centered behind both of his eyes. “Sorry,” he said. “Maybe that nap isn’t such a bad idea.” 

“ _Bath_ and a nap. Don’t forget the bath,” Tony emphasized, waving his chopsticks at him and completely unfazed by Bruce’s quick temper. To say he was used to it would be an understatement. 

Bruce rolled his eyes. “How is Rhodey anyway?” he asked because he was genuinely interested but also to change the subject. 

“You would know if you checked your phone but I’ll be nice and update you anyway. He’s good. And, ya know, it’s Rhodey. Things just work for him. I wanna be him when I grow up.” 

Bruce snorted. “Well you’ve still got a couple years to get it right.” 

“Rude but, yeah, you know he’s in Hawaii right now at the Air Force base being an instructor for… something. I don’t know. I zone out during the actual shoptalk. I just like hearing his voice.” 

Bruce smiled softly and shook his head. “You sure you two never secretly started dating? I did catch you in some pretty compromising situations.” 

“And you know as well as I do that Rhodey is, unfortunately, very straight _and_ those situations were in college. Nothing counts then. Besides, his latest update is that a certain pilot named Captain Danvers has caught his eye and I’m still pining pitifully after our himbo friend at the bar.” 

“He’s not a himbo, Tony. Maybe stop calling him that and you might actually have a chance with the guy,” Bruce said, taking a large bite and barely chewing because he had severely underestimated just how hungry he was. 

The bar in question was one of Bruce’s favorite hangout spots. He’d been going there for the last few years and had become good friends with the owner, Natasha. The people who frequented the place had character but never got to the point of being rowdy or out of control. The staff were all nice, down-to-earth people, and the drinks were delicious. 

It was loud but dimly lit and spacious, allowing him a measure of privacy even in public which he loved. Bruce was quiet and he was aware that he radiated wallflower energy but he didn’t mind. He would hate to be the guy everyone wanted to talk to, he preferred sidelines or small groups. He liked people, he just wasn’t very good with them. 

“I’ve been to that bar several times with you and there’s no point in me feigning modesty here when we both know I’m hot as hell, so either he’s blind or not interested,” Tony concluded with a pout. 

Bruce snorted. “Or intimidated. You can be incredibly intimidating and I’m not even sure you’re aware,” Bruce told him easily, plucking a spring roll from the open box they were sharing. 

“I’m half his height. What about me is supposed to intimidate that six-two Magic Mike lookalike?” Bruce gestured vaguely to all of Tony and Tony frowned. “All of me?” 

“Yes. What you lack in height you more than make up for with Tony-ness. You’re too smart not to know this by now. I’m sure Rhodey’s pointed it out to you. Or Pepper.” 

“Maybe.” 

“Steve’s shy, believe it or not. Try approaching him not like he’s a piece of ass you’d like to lick and instead like he’s a guy you think is cute.” 

“I know you _think_ you said two different things but…” Tony let the thought trail off, fighting off his grin at the unimpressed look on Bruce’s face. 

Bruce sighed. “Let’s revisit this conversation when I don’t have a pounding headache.” 

“Really? You _had_ to say the word _pounding_ after I just told you how sad and single I am? Low blow, Banner.” 

Bruce rolled his eyes but he didn’t say anything else, just leaned back into the couch cushions and chewed a little slower now, actually tasting the food. Tony grabbed the remote and changed the channel, muttering something about Bruce being an old man and finally stopped on the sci-fi channel. 

They ate in silence for a few more minutes, only occasionally grunting or snorting derisively at a scientific inaccuracy in the film. Of course it was riddled with them but they saved their energy for the truly dumb ones. 

“Thanks for this. Really,” Bruce said during a commercial break, letting his head roll lazily to face Tony, starting to feel full and lethargic. 

“Sure thing. Always better eating with company anyway.” He nudged Bruce with his elbow and winked. 

“You live across the hall. You could just _always_ come over here and eat with me, you know?” 

“I know,” Tony said, “but usually when I’m not helping you remember to eat, I’m forgetting to do it myself. Thank god for Rhodey or we’d both be nothing but a bag of bones.” Bruce laughed quietly. “So, tell me, what’s this new book supposed to be about?” 

Bruce groaned, his mood deteriorating some at the mention of it. He waved his spring roll in the air as if hoping it would spell out the words he hadn’t been able to find. “Action.” 

“Alright, give me more. Everyone knows action is your genre of choice,” Tony said, turning on the couch and folding a leg underneath himself to more easily face Bruce. “Come on, work with me. Maybe I can get you out of your slump.” 

His genre of choice _was_ action. In particular, hero action. He wasn’t so much into the full on superhero stuff. No capes, no tights, and definitely no super secret, high tech hero hideouts or mega villains with robot armies to do their bidding who wear equally ridiculous outfits. 

He liked anti-heroes. He liked people who were assholes or jerks or had some other unsavory characteristic who managed to turn over a new leaf and redeem themselves on a better path while still retaining their unfavorable qualities. 

Bruce couldn’t relate to the faultless, blameless, no-bad-bone-in-their-body hero trope. Honestly, who could? But Bruce felt a connection with his rough-around-the-edges protagonists with all their faults and screw-ups who, at the end of the day, just wanted to be accepted by those dear to them. 

This was his third book. It wasn’t a series—because he liked things that began and ended—but this would be the third novel he hoped to get published. He had pitched other ideas to his agent who in turn had presented them to a few publishers but no one had picked them up. Bruce knew he had found his niche in anti-hero storytelling and didn’t entirely mind staying there. 

Except for right now because his mind was emptier than his fridge and every single idea he had come up with had felt overdone or corny. Hence why the notebook had been thrown at the wall. 

If Bruce thought about it too long, he would discourage himself entirely from writing. There was nothing new under the sun; everything and every idea had been written in one way or another. It didn’t invalidate what Bruce had written but he did have to remind himself that he wasn’t going to be able to miraculously come up with a story no one had ever read before. There would be tropes, he just had to choose which ones he could live with. 

Bruce shrugged and sunk further into the couch. “I got nothing.” 

“Nothing? I find that hard to believe.” 

“That’s your problem,” Bruce muttered, irritated. 

“Maybe it is time we went back to your inspiration station.” Tony wiped his mouth with a napkin and went to the kitchen to find a drink, sighing loudly and Bruce could only assume that was due to him having incredibly limited options. 

Bruce returned to his internal debate while Tony got himself a drink. He couldn’t help but fixate on the fact that he had no ideas. He wasn’t even stuck because to be stuck he would have had to write something, right? You couldn’t get stuck without ever having moved and Bruce was about as stationary as—

Bruce’s mind refused to produce a comparison and that was how Bruce knew that he was well and truly fucked as far as creativity went. Now he couldn’t even produce a simple analogy! 

What if— 

“What now? Inspiration station no good? I thought it was kinda funny—”

“What if I’m out of ideas for good?” Bruce interrupted, the worry that had been hanging over his head like a dark cloud finally being verbalized and he winced as the words left his mouth. 

“Well,” Tony said, plopping down beside him again, “you said that with the last book and look how well it did.”

“Yeah but the last book didn’t take me _this_ long.” 

“Don’t beat yourself up, Bruce. Trust the process. Or is it ‘don’t rush the process’? Crush the process? Rhodey said one of those to me and now I can’t remember which but you’re smart and you know what I mean.” 

“You’re the most unhelpful helpful person I know.” 

“You’re welcome. Also, hand your tablet over.” 

“Why?” 

Tony gestured to the food in his hands. “Boiled water with pepper ringing any bells? You need groceries. I honestly can’t believe I am the voice of reason and self-care. Rhodey and Pepper will be amazed. I can’t wait to tell them.” 

Tony had a point. If he was having to play nanny for Bruce, Bruce seriously needed to get his shit together. It was the same story every time though. He would spiral into self-isolation, eating and sleeping the bare minimum. Bruce wasn’t really good at half-assing stuff, he was too critical of himself for that. He could eat nothing but seventeen saltines the whole day but he refused to let himself slack off in his writing. 

“Earth to Banner, come in Banner,” Tony called, waving a shrimp wonton in his face. “God, if you become the reckless one who never attended self-preservation 101 _and_ the easily distracted one, what am I gonna have left? My witty one-liners? My fabulous ass?” 

“I don’t think I’ll ever be quite as annoying as you,” Bruce remarked without malice, glancing at him sidelong. 

“You better not. I didn’t get this way overnight, you know. Real work was involved. Anyway, tablet, groceries, gimme.” He made grabby hands for the tablet lying on the end of the coffee table closest to Bruce. Bruce sighed but sat up and handed it to him and Tony ate with one hand while he typed in and ordered various groceries—some fresh in case Bruce felt the desire to cook but most frozen so he could be sure he would eat _something_. 

After a few minutes in silence, the only other sound Tony tapping away at the screen, the groceries were ordered using the card on file and Tony tossed the tablet onto the cushion between them. He let out a deep sigh. 

“This is _exhausting._ Do better, Bruce. I do _not_ enjoy playing Mama Stark. How does Rhodey _do_ this?” 

“He’s Rhodey. Things just work for him,” Bruce said, echoing Tony’s own words. 

Tony patted Bruce’s leg. “There’s the snarky Banner I love. You just needed some food, huh, big guy?”

Tony reached over and poked Bruce’s side and Bruce jumped because he was ticklish but didn’t protest the touch itself. Tony had always been incredibly touchy-feely and after over a decade of friendship, Bruce had given up in his efforts to evade Tony’s pokes, prods, and hugs. 

Bruce had never done very well with touch, it just wasn’t something he had grown up seeing as a particularly positive thing. It wasn’t like he threw tantrums whenever he was faced with physical contact; it simply was not his favorite thing. 

Though he had his exceptions and Tony was most definitely one of them.

Bruce put down his empty food container and rubbed his stomach with a satisfied smile. “I do feel better.” 

“Good. That deserves ice cream,” Tony said, standing to go to the kitchen when it seemed to dawn on him that Bruce’s kitchen had about as much edible food in it as a school cafeteria. “Should I even bother asking if you have ice cream?” 

“Actually, I think that might be one of the few things I _do_ have.” 

  
  


+

  
  


“Maybe a dog? But is that too I Am Legend?” Bruce said out loud to himself, turning on the shower and waiting for it to warm up before he stepped underneath the spray of water. 

He closed his eyes, tilting his head back and letting it beat down on his face for a few seconds. It felt great but a bath would’ve been even better. He made a mental note to run a hot bath later in the week in hopes of removing the knots in his shoulders that a shower was powerless against. 

He washed his hair twice for no other reason than the fact that he knew Tony would touch it and make comments all night if he realized it was still greasy. 

He stepped out, dried off, and decided that maybe he didn’t need a shave but a trim was definitely in order. He had really let himself go all _Castaway_ these last few weeks, having left his apartment only twice to pick up food and get some fresh air. 

“Gotta do better, Banner,” he told himself sternly, tilting his head up to tidy up his neck first and then the rest, going to get dressed once that was done. 

Bruce was in no way, shape, or form anything even resembling fashionable. It was the bane of Tony’s existence but he was learning! Although a part of him still purposely mismatched his outfits because he knew how much it irked Tony. Okay, so maybe Tony was right about not being the only annoying one. 

His style wasn’t the atrocious ‘is he a serial killer or does he just dress in the dark’ look that he had been sporting when he and Tony first met but it wasn’t anything special. Dark jeans, a soft flannel that he buttoned too high according to Tony, and a well-worn pair of sneakers. 

He went back to the bathroom to tackle his mop of curls in the hopes that he could force it into something akin to a style and less tumbleweed. 

“Maybe a sidekick?” he suggested to himself, running moisturizer-slicked fingers through his hair. 

The majority of the morning he had spent cleaning after the harsh reality had hit him that Tony Stark was saying his apartment was messy. As he cleaned, he brainstormed possible ideas aloud. He still didn’t have a name for his protagonist or any kind of notable feature or talent but he knew a lot of what he didn’t want. So that was something. Right? 

“No, too Batman and Robin,” he decided, rolling up his sleeves and then cleaning his glasses off. He had given up on his hair. It had a life of its own and that had never been more apparent than the times he had attempted to tame it. 

The protagonist of his first book was, unsurprisingly, loosely based on Bruce himself. It was called _The_ _Hulk_ and centered around a scientist with anger issues who got hit with a lethal dose of gamma radiation but instead of killing him, it turned him into an indestructible rage monster. 

He honestly hadn’t expected it to take off the way it did but apparently people enjoyed reading about what was basically a fictionally embellished version of Bruce’s autobiography. He knew there was a lesson or a takeaway somewhere in that but he had yet to find it. 

He’d sold over a million copies stateside and then another few hundred thousand collectively between other countries and it had even been translated into a couple languages. 

So he wrote a second. 

The second one had been inspired by Tony, his best friend since college. That one had done even better than _The Hulk_ . Bruce called it _Iron Man_. And, no, he definitely didn’t harbor even a little bit of resentment over how much better it had done. No, of course not. 

Now he was working on his third novel with a new protagonist and a new plot and new everything but so far he had diddly squat.

He had considered tackling a woman’s point of view for a female protagonist but he was advised (threatened) to abandon that idea by Natasha, so he was sticking with his comfort zone of the male psyche. Even though he didn’t always feel that he even knew how _that_ one worked. 

His phone rang and Bruce startled, answering it. 

“Yeah,” he said, resting the phone on his chest of drawers and turning on the speaker function as he ran a belt through his pant loops. 

“You don’t return my emails, you don’t check your messages, why do you even have a phone, Bruce, honestly,” Maria Hill, Bruce’s agent, said. 

Maria Hill had come into Bruce’s life through recommendation. He had spent a few weeks searching publishing websites and writer blogs for a potential agent who worked in his genre and he’d come up with nothing and nobody. At least not anyone he actually liked. 

Maria was an acquaintance of one of their friends, Pepper, and she had passed on Maria's contact information when Tony mentioned to her that Bruce was looking for an agent. Bruce was both extremely grateful for her and slightly irritated because she was almost as persistent as Tony although definitely more intimidating. And he _had_ actually been ignoring her calls and emails. 

She sighed and started again when he didn’t speak. “How’s it going?” 

“It’s… I’m working on it.” 

She must have heard the thinly veiled frustration in his tone at his own failings or else she was too tired to fuss because her next words were even softer. “A little stuck?” 

Bruce rubbed his forehead, willing away a new headache before it could start. He wanted to enjoy his evening. “Yeah.” 

There was a long silence on the other end and Bruce didn’t even want to think about what might be going through Maria’s head. He knew it couldn’t be anything good. 

“How are you otherwise? I know it can’t be easy getting the—” 

“You know, Maria, actually I’m just about to head out. Talk later,” he interrupted, hanging up the call because, no, he wasn’t ready to talk about that yet. Maybe not ever. 

Bruce stood in front of the mirror that hung over his chest of drawers and closed his eyes, removing his glasses and setting them down. He took a few shallow breaths and then worked to deepen them. 

In and out deeply four times, counting to four slowly as he inhaled and eight as he exhaled. He focused on the feeling of the air filling his lungs, thought about all the processes going on as the air left his chest again, to put his mind at ease. 

Finally he opened his eyes, cleaned off his glasses again—it was more of a habit than an actual necessity—and stared at himself in the mirror. 

It wasn’t even truly anger. He wasn’t _angry_ about what had happened, he was upset. It cut straight to the bone and left him feeling hollow and if there was one thing Bruce Banner’s brain couldn’t wrap itself around it was how to properly process and express his emotions. Almost everything negative became anger. 

He sighed. 

“And this is why you’re single,” he said out loud, chuckling derisively as he added, “and so is this.” _‘This’_ being the fact that he talked to himself. 

He sighed again and turned away from the mirror, grabbing his cotton tote bag that Tony hated and heading for the door. 

The bar was full and bustling by the time Bruce arrived. Tony was late, which was not surprising in the least, so Bruce headed inside, carefully squeezing between rowdy patrons and making his way to his usual table. He had made sure to text Natasha in advance to let her know he was coming so she could keep his table free for him and she had. 

He climbed up onto the high booth and rummaged through his tote bag until he found his pen and notebook, laying both on the small, round table in front of him. He checked his watch and then his phone, glancing over just in time to catch Natasha’s eye as she made her way around the bar and in his direction, a drink in her hand. 

“One mint julep,” Natasha said, setting it down on the table and sliding in beside him. She leaned in and gave Bruce a quick kiss on the cheek. Natasha was also an exception to his no-touching policy. “Hey, Bruce.” 

“Hey, Nat,” he answered, a small warm smile on his lips.

Bruce loved coming to Natasha’s bar. It was everything he needed—noisy, dark, the drinks were delicious, and he even got a discount because he occasionally helped her with her accounts and taxes. In addition to his discount, Natasha and the other two who worked there—Sam and Steve—kept people from bothering Bruce while he sat at his usual table, sipped his drink, and sought out inspiration. They were also good company when he felt more talkative. 

Contrary to the norm, Bruce needed noise to think. He needed chaos and commotion to help focus his thoughts. In silence, he had too much freedom to think about everything all at once, which was why even at home he would open windows or blast music or the television. 

The noise and chaos in the bar topped anything Bruce could achieve at home. It was like a centrifuge for his thoughts, filtering and separating the ones he needed from those he didn’t. 

He’d spent nearly every evening there while writing his last book and had gotten pretty familiar with the usual clientele. So much so that quite a few would nod to the introverted author sitting at the back of the room as he passed them.

Bruce looked down at his notes. So far the only thing he’d written was the date and a big question mark where he was trying to think of a character name and that he had written this morning in hopes of being able to come up with something by now. He hadn’t but at least he had been hopeful. 

“New book?” Natasha asked.

“If you can call it that,” Bruce said, defeated. He slid the notebook over to show her all of his non-progress. “Two weeks of this and all I have to show for it is the date.” 

Natasha breathed a soft laugh. “You’re too hard on yourself, Bruce. I’m sure you’ll come up with something.” 

“That’s what Tony keeps telling me.” 

“Tony,” Natasha said, the corner of her mouth turned up in an exasperated but fond smile. “How is he?” 

Bruce smiled. “He’s on his way but he’s late.” 

“I’m not surprised.”

“Neither am I.” 

“How’s the drink?”

“Oh,” Bruce said, having forgotten to even try it. He felt a small swell of warmth at the fact that she had prepared it without him even having to ask. And it was perfect, he noted as he took a sip. “Delicious.”

She smiled back, relaxing a little and Bruce could feel her warmth gently press against him, Natasha’s subtle way of showing that she missed him without having to say the words. 

Bruce respected and appreciated that. Despite being an actual best-selling author, he understood the difficulty of using words. They could be so fickle, so easily misinterpreted or, at times, simply not enough. They just did not always work in real life as opposed to on paper. Not how he wanted them to at least. 

“You don’t want to write another book about Tony?” she asked after a moment of silence. 

Bruce laughed. “No way. I already gave his ego an unnecessary boost. He’s already bugged me about a sequel and he wants me to include more Rhodey.” 

Natasha breathed a laugh, shaking her head softly. “A sequel _and_ he has notes? Wow. What’s does Rhodey have to say about it?” 

Bruce laughed again. “He doesn’t mind as long as he’s not relegated to the funny sidekick.” 

“Understandable. So are you still thinking about making a woman protagonist?” 

“Oh, definitely not. You made it very clear last time that a man should never write a woman’s perspective. Least of all me.” 

“I didn’t say least of all you,” she told him, whacking his leg lightly. 

“Oh, I know. _I’m_ saying that.” 

They talked and teased a few more minutes and Bruce let out a relieved sigh, feeling a little better despite still not having made any progress. He bumped his shoulder against Natasha’s. 

“Thanks. I needed this.” 

She nodded in return and checked her phone. “My break’s almost over but you know where to find me if you’d like some more conversation.” 

“Break? Don’t you kind of decide that?” 

“If I don’t obey the rules I’ll never be able to keep those criminals from breaking them,” she said, indicating with her chin at Steve and Sam who were bickering behind the counter. Steve had done _something_ that made Sam roll his eyes, shake his head and walk away. Steve looked embarrassed. 

“You amaze me, you know? Two full-time jobs at once—this bar and babysitting.” 

“Tell me about it,” she said, sliding down off the stool and stretching. She tapped the table twice with her hand, giving Bruce a small smile and then returning to the counter. 

Bruce watched her go for a minute, grateful to have her as a friend. He’d never been particularly good at making friends but the few he did have he cherished dearly. 

“I’m late, I’m late for a very important date,” Bruce heard his dearest friend say, glancing up to see Tony sliding between people. 

Unlike Bruce, Tony looked like he was going to a bar to pick someone up. He was wearing the tightest black jeans on earth and Bruce shifted uncomfortably just thinking about the pinching and squishing going on there. He paired it with a crisp white shirt unbuttoned enough to show off his perpetually tanned skin. His hair looked effortlessly styled, as usual, and as much as Bruce wanted to tease him, he couldn’t because Tony really looked good. 

“So I get all dolled up for you and you arrive as what? A high school English teacher? Banner, come—oh, no. Did you bring that farmer’s market bag with you? To the _bar_?” 

Bruce smiled, happy to see Tony and to rile him up. “How else was I supposed to carry my stuff?” 

Tony sat down beside him with a huff, looking him up and down. “In your hands like every other cool person. Who are you supposed to attract looking like this, Bruce? A Quaker?” 

“I’m not here to attract anyone. I’m here to find inspiration for my story.” 

“Well I personally think that you getting laid could loosen you up enough for you to feel inspired,” Tony said, his tone matter of fact. 

“Of course you do.” 

“Hey, I’m a scientist. Kind of. If I’m wrong, fine. But there’s no saying I’m wrong without at least a little trial and error,” Tony stated, smiling at Natasha when he caught her eye. She nodded at him and said something to Sam who waved and headed over. Tony pouted and Bruce barely covered his laugh. 

“Hey, Bruce, hey, Tony, what can I get you?” Sam asked, leaning slightly against the table. 

_Sam’s so nice_ , Bruce thought. His smile was contagious and he was kind and uncomplicated. There was no need to read between the lines with him. He usually said what he thought, just like Natasha. 

Bruce would be lying if he said he hadn’t had a small crush on Sam for a while after he first met him but it wasn’t long until he noticed the ring Sam wore around his neck and found out he was married to Steve’s best friend. In any case, they were still friends. 

“Uh, yeah, so I’ll have a double blond bartender on the rocks with an extra shot of where is he? Is he not working tonight?” 

Sam snorted, still caught off guard by the walking personification of the word ‘blunt’ that was Tony. Tony had only started accompanying Bruce to Natasha’s bar in the last year. Before that, they’d gone together to a more raunchy spot where Tony liked to find dates. Bruce had always been uncomfortable and finally it got to the point where he dragged Tony here. 

It wasn’t as much of a pick-up spot nor was it anywhere near raunchy—Natasha ran a fun but orderly business—but Tony had warmed to it, especially after meeting Bruce’s bar friends. 

“He’s in the back grabbing a couple bottles. I can send him over when he’s back. Did you wanna wait for your drink until then or…?” 

“Yeah,” Tony said, fixing his hair, “I’ll need a neutral opener. Hey, quick question, Steve is definitely into guys, right?” 

Sam contemplated his answer for a moment and then said, “I think I’ll let you figure that one out. Bruce, anything else I can get you in the meantime?” 

“Some pretzels would be great. Thanks, Sam.” 

“Sure thing.” 

Tony leaned back, dragging a hand down his face and turning to Bruce who was trying to slip into a world of his own to drum up some ideas. 

Tony decided, amazingly, to be quiet, seeming to recognize the look on Bruce’s face. Sam brought over the pretzels and Bruce faintly registered him telling Tony that Steve would be out soon but he didn’t focus on the rest of the conversation, looking around the bar, hoping to see someone that could inspire a new protagonist. Maybe even a new _antagonist_. 

Something. 

_Anything_. 

Mostly he just saw the usuals. The university where he lectured on occasion as a part time job wasn’t too far away from the bar so he saw a lot of college students and even some from his past classes, like Hank McCoy and Jemma Simmons. Then there were the more mature usuals like Logan Howlett. 

Logan was as much of a loner as Bruce although tonight Bruce had Tony to help disprove his loner status. Logan’s loner-ness was more the ‘stay away or you’ll regret it’ kind anyway whereas Bruce radiated ‘sad, awkward hermit’, or so Tony had said. 

Finally, Tony had had enough of the silence and the nervousness that was growing as he waited for Steve to make an appearance. Bruce didn’t mind, Tony had held out longer than he thought he would anyway. 

“So, action. You tweaked the plot any since the last time we talked about it?” he asked, popping a pretzel into his mouth. 

“Not really but definitely something more low-key than the last two.” 

“Oh? No more destroying Harlem or riding a nuke into space to save New York? But those were so relatable to the everyday person. How could you?” 

“Shut up,” Bruce grumbled, but there was a smile on his face because that’s what Tony did. He teased and he picked and he made Bruce laugh, especially when Tony knew he was stressed. “I just… I don’t know. Low-key is about as far as I’ve gotten.” 

“It’s still better than nothing, Bru—he’s coming. Quick, teeth check,” Tony said, baring his teeth at Bruce who gave him an amused thumbs-up. “He looks good. Does he look better than usual?” 

“Take a breath. You’ve got this.” 

It was odd watching Tony get flustered. Well, odd and entertaining. The man was the suavest, most charismatic individual Bruce had ever happened across. Tony could talk his way out of a bank robbery even if the cop caught him with a bag of cash and a gun. 

Bruce had always admired that about him if not been just the slightest bit envious because despite being the writer, when it came to flirting and smooth-talking, it was like Bruce had never learned to properly string words together to form coherent and pleasant speech. 

Steve walked towards them, a gentle blush already on his otherwise pale cheeks. Bruce grabbed a handful of pretzels and prepared himself for the show, used to being a quiet observer to Tony’s romantic attempts. 

“Hi, Bruce,” Steve greeted him, his deep voice exceedingly pleasant to listen to. Bruce had also spent a fair amount of time at the bar ogling Steve. How could he not? The man was built like a Michaelangelo carving, with a voice like melted butter, and lashes so long Bruce wondered if they bothered him. “Hey, Tony.” 

Bruce raised his eyebrows slightly, noting the change in his voice when it was Tony’s name rolling off his tongue. Bruce hoped Tony had picked up on it as well and if so, this ought to be good. 

For all Steve’s positive points, though, Bruce still wasn’t interested. Mostly because Tony had been interested since day one and had been working up the nerve to actually do something about it but also because Steve kind of felt like the faultless, blameless hero-types Bruce avoided writing and even if it wasn’t true, the idea of having to live up to that in a relationship almost made Bruce feel dizzy. A friendship was where he drew the line with Steve. 

Not that he thought Steve would be interested in him anyway.

“What can I get you?” 

“I’m good for now,” Bruce said and Steve seemed grateful for that, quickly turning his attention to Tony, a smile on his lips. 

“And you, Tony?” Steve’s entire body was angled towards Tony and he leaned against their table, holding the notepad in front of himself which gave him the perfect opportunity to surreptitiously flex his biceps. 

Tony’s eyes zeroed in on the movement and then flashed back up to Steve’s face. Bruce considered poking him under the table to get his brain to kickstart again after that but Tony righted himself and got back to the mission at hand. 

“Yeah, I’ll have a Laphroiag, neat, and your phone number,” Tony said, easily, as though he hadn’t just been panicking three seconds before Steve walked over. Bruce was impressed, as always. 

“Okay,” Steve said, frowning as he noted it down and then glanced up again. Tony’s eyes flickered quickly to Bruce and seemed to say _‘oh_ _shit’_!’ “We’ve got Laphroaig 10, 16 and—wait, _my_ number?” 

Tony let out a nervous laugh that probably didn’t seem nervous to Steve but Bruce heard the small trill at the beginning of it. “Uh, yeah. Of course if you don’t swing that way, that’s fine. Give me your number anyway, let’s be friends.” 

Almost a smooth recovery and as Bruce watched Tony look for something to do with his hands, he slid the bowl of pretzels closer and Tony took some, quickly tossing one into his mouth and munching as he did his best to maintain his pretense of nonchalance. 

“No, I mean, yes. I do, I am and—I thought you were asking about the year of the scotch in a weird way and—”

“Well, I mean I’d still like the scotch. And I’ll take that ten year but I’d also like to take you. Out. On a date.” 

It was a little rough but it seemed to work if the way Steve’s cheeks warmed an even deeper pink were any indication. His light blue eyes darted away and then they were right back on Tony’s face. 

“I-I—yes, I would like that.” Bruce could see him internally cursing himself for stuttering. “Your phone?” 

Tony quickly dug it out of his pocket, unlocked it, and handed it over. Steve set down his notepad and quickly input his details. Bruce could only imagine what else he had typed based on the way Tony’s eyebrows shot up when he got the phone back. 

Tony locked his phone and then waved it triumphantly, grinning at Steve. 

“Well, my night is made. I’ll text you?” 

“I’d prefer a call,” Steve said and Tony simply nodded. 

“A call it is.” 

Steve stayed there a moment longer before turning around to head back to the bar and were Bruce’s eyes deceiving him or did Steve have a little extra pep in his step all of a sudden? 

“That was kinda hard to watch,” Bruce told him, looking over at Tony who was staring at his phone under the table out of view. 

Tony opened his mouth to say something that Bruce knew would be a snark but then closed it again, pensive. “It sure was but you know what, Bananarama? I got his number.” 

“Finally. I’m proud of you.” 

“Me t—oh, damn it. Fuck me,” Tony swore, a hand coming up to his forehead. 

“I think that’ll be Steve’s job.” 

Tony chuckled and then checked his phone. “What’s today? Wednesday or Thursday?”

“Tuesday,” Bruce answered. “Forgot something?” 

“Huh, earlier than I thought. Anyway, yeah, I have to be in LA on Friday,” Tony groaned, looking over at Steve sadly who was talking excitedly to Sam and Natasha. 

Tony headed up the R&D branch for some big tech company that Bruce constantly forgot the name of and he spent his time between New York and California. For the last few months he had been in New York and Bruce was honestly going to miss him. 

“They need you onsite?” 

“Sure do. Talk about shitty timing, huh? You think he’ll think I’m blowing him off?” Bruce shook his head, a fond smile on his lips. “Poor word choice?”

“You think?” Bruce sighed, looking over at Steve again. “I think he’ll understand. Besides, he’s waited all this time for you to finally ask him out. He can wait another—wait, for how long?” 

Tony whipped out his phone again and opened his emails, scrolling until he found the one he needed. “Three weeks. Ugh, stupid work. Why couldn’t I just be born into money? Like your book version of me. Hey, speaking of money, when do I get to collect royalties for you using my likeness for material gain?” 

Bruce snorted that time, taking a sip of his drink. “Here you go,” he said, digging in his pants pocket and taking out a crumpled one dollar bill. Tony refused to even hold his hand out for it, wrinkling his nose. “Buy yourself something nice.” 

“That’s barely money. I’m offended.” 

“Good, that was the goal.” Bruce grinned when Tony huffed in annoyance and sat back against the booth, looking out across the bar. “What am I gonna do without you for three whole weeks?” 

“Definitely something boring. No doubt about that,” Tony teased, his dark eyes sliding to Bruce. “But, ya know, I’ll be with you in spirit. Text me and let me know if inspiration strikes or if you decide to give up writing and move to the mountains.” 

“Sure, I’ll keep you updated. Currently leaning towards the latter. Do you want your own bedroom in my cabin?” 

“Yeah, with views please.” 

The conversation died down for the moment, Tony on his phone sending an email to someone and Bruce just quietly observing the world around him. 

At some point, he wasn’t sure exactly when, he had given up on using tonight to find inspiration. Between Tony’s love life, being back at the bar after so long away, and just Tony in general, he was too distracted to focus on writing. 

He picked up his notebook and pen and put them away in his bag, deciding to use the rest of the night to just enjoy with his friend before he went away. 

  
  


+

  
  


“Maybe he’s… maybe…” Bruce tried, hoping a word would come to him but it never did. He glanced down at the notebook that was just as empty as it had been three days ago at the bar. 

He stared at the lines and then dropped his head down onto the book, groaning softly. With the last two books, it hadn’t been _easy_ per se but it just seemed to come so naturally. 

With his own life of course he knew what he wanted to add and what would need revising or fictionalizing so that it wasn’t too personal to put out into the world. Bruce knew where to start and how to start and even how to end it. He knew all the ups and downs and surprises, the sad points, and the parts so distressing he decided to leave them out. 

Even with the second book Bruce already knew the kind of direction he would take it in. One not too dissimilar from Tony’s own success story just with the added billions and the, well, flying robotic suit. 

But this one? This book was almost refusing to be written. Bruce had considered giving up a few times and starting in a completely new direction but the few times he’d tried ‘new’ and ‘different’ before hadn’t been received well. Plus, when he closed his eyes, he could almost feel the words on the tip of his tongue, waiting to be lured out onto the page. They were just stuck. 

He lifted his head and looked around the room. Tony had left for L.A. earlier that morning and Bruce’s living room had already succumbed to his rabbit-hole habits, the floor around him was nearly covered with papers and a few books he’d been paging through on different weapons and fighting techniques. 

He sighed, the sudden rush of air puffing up his cheeks, and pushed himself away from his desk to stretch and get his blood circulating. Maybe that would help. 

“Okay,” he said aloud, removing his glasses and tucking them into his hair which was slowly increasing in greasiness again. 

He was pacing the apartment, looking for anything to give him a start, when his eyes fell on the golden envelope on his desk that contained the equitably beautiful card on the inside. He froze, staring at it until it became a glare and he snatched it up, debating ripping it into pieces or just tossing it in the bin as is. 

He grabbed it at the top, his fingers ready to tear but… he couldn’t do it. That was petty, wasn’t it? Too petty. 

And he had to keep reminding himself that he wasn’t angry, he was hurt and therefore he needed to handle the situation differently. He opened his desk drawer and tossed the envelope in. He still had a week to respond and he planned to use every second of that time to think of the best way to do so. 

His phone buzzed and Bruce went to it immediately, grateful for the welcome distraction. It was Tony letting him know he’d arrived safely in LA. Bruce sent back a quick thumbs up and a smiley face and Tony replied with ‘thirsty,’ making Bruce chuckle. 

**Tony:** and stop moping in your apartment, go to the bar and mope 

Bruce stared at the message and then checked the time. It was nearing five. That wasn’t too early to be at a bar. 

**Bruce:** fine 

**Tony:** where’s all that enthusiasm when I’m around? 

Bruce snorted, picking up his jacket and slipping it on. He grabbed his tote bag and pulled on the shoes that Tony _really_ hated. Bruce liked them. They were comfortable and functional, the two adjectives Tony said clothing should never be except for _maybe_ underwear. 

Bruce checked his hair quickly and then decided there was no improving the situation, locking his door behind him as he left. 

  
  


Bruce squeezed past people once again to reach his table where Steve was standing with his usual drink and some pretzels. He sat them both down as soon as Bruce was situated in his spot. 

“Hey, Steve.” 

“Good to see you, Bruce. Got your usuals.” 

“Thanks. Hey, did Tony reach out or…?” 

“Yeah,” Steve said quickly, “he did. Said he’s in L.A. and we set a date for when he’s back. But, um, just to be sure, he’s—”

“He’s really in L.A., not messing around. He’s wanted to ask you out too long to leave you hanging.” 

“Oh, okay. Good, good. Thanks,” Steve said, briefly resting his hand on Bruce’s arm before he walked off. Steve was an exception. As was Sam. 

Bruce watched him go, happy that things seemed to be alright between him and Tony despite the abrupt trip. He met eyes with Natasha once Steve reached the bar and she gave him a nod. Beside her, Sam waved and Bruce lifted his fingers in an awkward greeting. He loved that they acknowledged him but didn’t always feel the need to come over and make conversation. It was an easy, uncomplicated friendship that he had with the three of them. 

Bruce turned away and propped his head up on his hand, elbow on the table, staring resentfully down at the blank pages in front of him. He moved the book slightly so he could write in the margins, allowing the noise of the bar to filter his thoughts in a different direction. 

He doodled aimlessly until he got bored and then decided to people-watch for a while. He wasn’t much of an artist anyway. 

Again it was mostly usuals scattered around the bar with the exception of a few new faces but none that really caught Bruce’s attention. The noise levels were higher than usual but nothing too overwhelming and the music played at a decent-level in the background, almost drowned out by the loud conversations and the sounds of the bartenders preparing drinks. 

Bruce’s eyes were coming around for the second round of scanning the room when he did a double take, his gaze being pulled back to a man he hadn’t seen a moment ago or ever in his life. And he would remember if he had because this face was gorgeous. 

Bruce had never really restricted himself to a type because he knew that he wasn’t all that much to look at so why be choosy but he still _knew_ what he liked and what he didn’t. 

And he liked this guy. 

He was tall, at least six foot, with short, dark blond hair and the kind of stubble that made Bruce wonder what he smelled like. It definitely occurred to him that that was a weird thought and probably why he was so bad at dating—and just being a human in general—but he didn’t care because at least he hadn’t said it out loud. 

For once. 

The man had a jawline to die for and the kind of physique that belonged to a lumberjack. All long arms and legs and he was wearing clothes that didn’t exactly highlight what Bruce was sure was a chiseled physique but didn’t totally mask it either. He watched the way the man’s biceps flexed under the soft material of his shirt as he leaned on the counter and Bruce felt his mouth go dry. 

Before he could get caught, Bruce looked away. He forced himself to stare at his notebook and take a few drinks before stealing a few more glances. 

Despite never having seen him before, the guy was leaning comfortably against the bar like he lived there, chatting with Sam and Natasha. A few people had waved to him and even Logan went over to clap him on the back and greet him before returning to his corner. 

The mystery guy was raising a lot of questions for Bruce. Who was he? Why did so many people know him? Why _didn’t_ Bruce know him? Was he single? 

So many very important questions and zero answers. Bruce felt an odd tension, an almost territorial tugging. It was stupid and juvenile but in his mind where no one could hear his insane claims, Bruce thought: _This is_ my _bar, who is this guy? Why does he know_ my _people?_

The guy even put a fully-fledged grin on Natasha’s face, a feat Bruce had only seen her girlfriend Okoye accomplish. 

Who _was_ he? 

Even with the whirlwind of questions and feelings he was experiencing, one overpowered them all. It was a hard one to describe. That sudden itch only satisfied by writing out one’s ideas. The exigent demand of his thoughts to be noted, remembered, to get them out of his head and onto something tangible, somewhere visible. 

Bruce looked down at his paper and wrote: _blond, tall, likable, a real people person._

He stared at the words, feeling a bubbling excitement in his stomach and then touching the pen to the paper again to make another note. 

_Rugged but charming._ _Casual, comfortable, approachable. Mysterious._

Bruce didn’t know who that man was but he was so very glad to have finally found his muse.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce meets his muse. It doesn’t go well. But Tony’s back from LA and the fall semester is starting up at the university, so things are looking up, right?

“So you have a name?” Maria asked a few days later, the sounds of New York in the background of her call. He heard a soft curse escape her lips and wondered what had happened but didn’t get the chance to ask because she was already firing off another question. “Can I hear it?” 

Bruce had taken the initiative to call her this time around and she had been pleasantly surprised by it. More so when he revealed the reason for his call. 

He had finally found inspiration. 

Inspiration in the shape of a beautiful mystery man at a bar about whom he knew absolutely nothing but it was inspiration! 

He had gone to Nat’s bar the last five nights in a row. The man had only been there for three of those nights but it didn’t really matter. The fire was lit and now Bruce was writing, ideas coming to him left and right and when the man  _ was _ there, his productivity spiked. One day he would work up the courage to thank him. Or, more likely, ask Nat to thank him. 

“Um,” he said, unsure. 

It had taken so long to finally get into a writing groove that he was apprehensive about every little thing he did. He didn’t change his drink at the bar, he always went at the same time, and he hadn’t given away any details yet to anyone. Not even Tony. Tony knew he’d finally struck creative gold but otherwise nothing. 

“I’d rather not. Don’t wanna jinx it.” 

“Sure, no problem. I’m just happy to hear that you’re out of your rut.” Maria cursed again, this time it was very obviously at someone. “Well, thanks for the update, Bruce. I’m just heading into a meeting for another client of mine. Anything else?” 

“No, that’s all. Take care.” 

“You too.” 

Bruce sat the phone down, leaning back in his chair and steepling his fingers in front of him, a tiny smile on his lips as he looked at the notes he had made the last few days. Finally, that crushing weight on his chest was retreating and he felt like he could breathe. He was even sleeping better knowing that he had done  _ something _ . 

He scooted the chair closer to inspect the notes and organize them better. 

_ Ronin _ , he had decided to name the character. He felt it was fitting given the literal definition of ‘drifter’ or ‘wanderer.’ Even though he assumed a few people at the bar knew Mystery Man, Bruce didn’t. He had never seen him and Bruce had been going to that bar for years now. Plus he felt like the name could  _ just _ pass as an unusual first name. 

Ronin was, though, by most standards, a normal man. He lived in a beat-down apartment, looked after the less fortunate in his neighborhood, and was basically the Robin Hood of Brooklyn. He was likeable and well-known, sharp as a tack and incredibly irritating when he wanted to be. All in all, his protagonist was finally coming together and it had put Bruce in such a good mood. 

Bruce closed the notebook for now, opening his drawer and turning over the envelope he hadn’t dared open since its arrival. He hoped his good mood would be enough for him to combat the contents of the letter but not quite yet. 

He flipped it over in his hands and then put it away. He still wasn’t ready. He still had time. 

  
  


+

Two weeks into his new routine and a few days from Tony’s return, Bruce had outlined the first seven chapters of his book. Of course it was subject to change but he was so happy that he actually indulged himself and ordered a different drink, much to the surprise of Sam, Steve, and Natasha. 

It was amazing the difference he felt between now and when he was stuck. It wasn’t only that he was able to finally create his characters, his world, his plot, but also just the clarity he felt in general. It was as if a mental fog had lifted and now he could think about everything clearly. He felt more awake, he was able to do something about the mess in his apartment, and he had even been so ambitious as to think about dating, though.. thinking about it was as far as he had gotten. 

Natasha brought over his drink, taking her spot beside Bruce and leaning in to press a kiss to his cheek. 

“Here,” she said, handing him a small tin with a green bow wrapped around it. “Okoye was baking over the weekend. She said these were your favorites.” 

“No way,” Bruce said excitedly, opening the tin to see her chai butter cookies that Bruce was sure he could live on for the rest of his life and be completely satisfied. He lifted the tin to his nose and inhaled deeply. “Oh my god.” 

Natasha chuckled. “I’m guessing you’re happy?” 

“So very happy. Thank her for me.” 

“I will. We’ll have to do dinner again sometime. I’d love to have that mole of yours that Tony boasted about.” 

“Anytime, just say the word.” 

Nat smiled warmly. “I’ll let her know and get back to you.” Bruce could feel her watching him as he tied the bow again and slipped the tin into his tote bag. 

He looked up when she continued silent. “What is it?”

“You’ve been a lot happier lately,” Natasha observed, her green eyes as warm as her smile. 

Bruce smiled too. “I am.” 

“Who do I thank for that? Stark?” 

“Actually... yeah. He’s not the sole reason but definitely had a hand in it. You can thank yourself too.” 

“Me?” Bruce nodded. “Explain.” 

“I found my muse,” he said and her eyebrows went up in surprise. “Someone at the bar.” 

“Aha. Someone new? Do I know them?” 

“I’d rather not say who they are. I’m just… very protective of the situation. I don’t want to do anything to ruin it.” 

“Say no more,” she told him, waving the thought away. “How’s... everything else?” 

Bruce knew what she was referring to. He immediately knew and he still didn’t want to talk about it any more than he had the last time it had been brought up. 

“It’s great,” he said and she slowly raised one unimpressed eyebrow. Bruce sighed. “I don’t want to talk about that.” 

“Will you at least talk to Tony about it?” 

“Yes.” He would. He  _ might _ . He might also just try to ignore it in hopes that would make it go away. That never worked in the past but maybe eightieth time was the charm! 

“Then we don’t have to talk about it.” 

“Thank you,” he said. 

When she left to go back to the counter after a few more minutes, Bruce opened the book to his most recent page and added a few things that had come to mind while talking to Natasha. He would run it by her soon but he did have a minor character that he wanted to loosely base off her. 

He looked over when the door opened and Mystery Man entered right on cue. He took his usual seat, ordered his drink and then struck up a conversation with the man beside him as if they were old friends catching up. 

Bruce wondered if they were or if this was just another person who would get to be blessed by whatever Mystery Man spent the evening talking about. 

His conversational partners never looked offended or bored. On the contrary, he made people laugh and smile. He normally spent the entire evening talking to one person with the exception of brief conversations he had with Nat and the guys. He seemed to have no problem striking up a conversation with a perceived stranger and turning them into a friend. And he didn’t just talk either, he  _ listened.  _

Bruce could see the way people responded to him, taking their turn to talk and seeming pleased with the way Mystery Man was reacting to their words. 

He never drank too much and he most definitely never overstepped with physical contact or personal space. He was respectful but casual, warm without it being creepy or too much. He seemed  _ perfect _ and the hardest part of this all was trying to write him without letting Bruce’s feelings seep in. 

Rationally, he knew that he knew nothing about him. The fact that he called him Mystery Man was a testament to that. Even so, he couldn’t help but find himself feeling an inexplicably strong connection to this man, an almost… obsession with him? 

_ Limerence _ , his brain supplied. 

But no, that wasn’t right. As much as Bruce found himself almost mesmerized by the man and definitely a little infatuated with this stranger, he didn’t feel the need for reciprocation of that. He didn’t feel frustrated by the fact that Mystery Man didn’t even know he existed, he just… really liked this particular stranger. 

On the subject of dating, what Bruce found odd or rather intriguing about him, though, was that he never went home with any of the people with whom he spoke. Maybe he left and they came afterwards or they went out the back but from what Bruce could tell, he came, he drank and talked and he went home alone. It was as fascinating as it was baffling. 

It’s not that Bruce thought the only reason for coming to a bar and talking to people was for it to result in sex but eventually that had to be  _ one  _ of the reasons on  _ one _ of the days, right? 

Bruce would be lying if he said he wasn’t dying to know but this was the first person he’d based a character on that he didn’t already know and he liked the mystery aspect of it all. It gave him more creative freedom because he didn’t feel that annoying nagging in his mind telling him he was writing them out of character. He could do as he pleased. 

When he next checked his watch, another hour of glancing over and writing had passed and he sat back to enjoy his drink, signaling to Sam who caught his eye that he would like another. 

He ducked his head to write again when the cushion beside him sunk under the weight of another person and when he turned to face them, his brain came screeching to a halt and he said nothing, his mouth hanging open. 

“Did you ever plan on saying hi? Or were you just going to stare and take notes? It was kinda cute at first but now it’s a little creepy,” Mystery man said, his voice deep and a little raspy. He was staring at Bruce with a pair of intense blue eyes he hadn’t anticipated from so far away. 

Bruce didn’t know what to say. He was at a complete loss for words. He hadn’t even realized this man had taken note of his existence, let alone noticed him staring and connected the dots between that and his notes. 

“I, uh….” Bruce managed, cursing himself because he had an incredibly extensive vocabulary but that was the best he could come up with? “Hello.” 

“Hi. Clint. Clint Barton, and you are?” 

Dammit. Bruce didn’t want to hear his name. Now it would bother him because Ronin and Clint weren’t exactly the same, were they? But then again, he had named Tony’s character Robert and he had named his own character Mark, so surely he could deal with Ronin and Clint being different. 

Clint extended his hand and Bruce took it, giving it a pitiful excuse for a squeeze and shake. Clint’s hands were firm and calloused as Bruce had expected based on the rest of him but they were also warm and just one of his seemed to engulf Bruce’s. 

That was nice. 

Bruce took his hand back, folding them both neatly in his lap. “Bruce Banner.” 

“Nice to meet you, Bruce. So, what’s with the notes?” 

“What makes you think they’re about you?” Bruce said defensively, shutting the notebook and scooting it out of Clint’s reach. Clint’s eyes followed the movement and then went back to Bruce’s. 

In all honesty, Bruce was having a hard time focusing. Between Clint’s proximity, the intense focus of those beautiful eyes being turned on him, and the way he smelled—earthy and manly and very, very inviting just as Bruce had assumed—there was a lot to take in and process and Bruce had never excelled in that field. Emotions and physical reactions and all that? 

He could explain someone else’s to them but he couldn’t make heads or tails of his own. 

“Well, you stare at me a lot, and the staring is usually followed by writing and now you won’t show me what it is you’ve written so it’s looking like they just might be about me,” Clint explained. 

So not only had Clint noticed Bruce’s existence, he had been watching him too. When? Bruce had never seen Clint’s head so much as turn towards him and whenever Bruce watched him in return, Clint was deeply engaged in a conversation. Or so it seemed. 

“I’m a writer,” Bruce said, carefully. 

It became more apparent than ever that Bruce didn’t know anything about this man and for that reason should probably refrain from starting anything. Despite the fact that all he was guilty of was staring and creating a character who resembled him, Bruce did not want to get into a fight over this. This was New York City after all. This man might be a cannibal for all Bruce knew. 

Clint’s eyes narrowed and Bruce could see the disbelief in them. He also noticed for the first time the dark circles under his eyes, the telltale signs of a shitty sleep schedule. 

“Bullshit,” Clint said. “Are you another reporter because, if so, I swear to god—“

“I’m not a reporter,” Bruce snapped, Clint’s tone making his temper flare up. “I’m a writer.”

“Listen here, asshole,” Clint said, one finger pressed into Bruce’s chest, pushing him back against the booth with more force than he had expected. He continued to talk but it was drowned out by Bruce’s pulse in his ears. 

See, the thing about Bruce Banner was that he didn’t like to be touched all that much  _ and _ he had a temper. When most people found out, they said  _ ‘everybody’s _ got a temper’ and dismissed it as nothing more than him running a little hotter under the collar than some but no, that wasn’t it. 

Bruce had a temper that forced him to take drastic measures to learn to control it, to rein it back in when he could feel that control slipping. Counseling, group meetings, meditation, at times even medications—you name it, he’s tried it—that he quickly gave up because of their side effects. It had started in his childhood and only gotten worse as he grew up. 

When the little switch in Bruce’s head was flicked to the angry side, it wasn’t as simple as him saying ‘no, I won’t be angry.’ It wasn’t the flash of irritation like his occasional snaps at Tony. It was an all-encompassing rage that he could feel wash out from his center to his fingertips. It made his hands shake and his skin prickle. 

It was like being in a storm cloud, the positive and negative charges creating a static charge build up just waiting to be focused into a lightning bolt. But it didn’t make him feel good or powerful, it was terrible. He needed to get it out, run it off and cool down. It had to go somewhere and unfortunately for Clint, it was aiming at him. 

Bruce closed his eyes, breathing in and out slowly, focusing on the sound of his own breath and trying to reel his temper back in but he knew it was a lost cause. He resolved to just leave and go home, turn on some loud music and let it sap the toxic energy coursing through him out. 

That is, until Clint pushed him back harder and Bruce’s eyes opened, all hopes of squashing his temper gone in an instant. 

With one swift and powerful extension of his arm, his palm landed right in the middle of Clint’s chest, sending him staggering backwards and into a nearby table. Bruce may not have seemed like the most intimidating person on the outside but he could hold his own in a fight. 

“What the hell?” Natasha asked, coming over now that Bruce and Clint’s conversation had attracted the attention of half the bar. 

Clint was still staring at Bruce, more than likely wondering how that small, unassuming man had managed that. Bruce gave him a tiny smile that was all threat and no friendliness. 

“Nat,” Clint started. “This creep’s been watching me for—“ 

“He’s not a  _ creep _ , Clint,” Nat said roughly, her intense gaze flickering to Bruce. 

A creep. 

Bruce’s inspiration thought he was a creep. The man he had been so enamored with thought he was nothing more than some pervert hiding out in a dark corner of a bar making disgusting little notes about him. Clint was a stranger, why did this stupid word hurt him so much? 

_ And people wonder why I don’t like to socialize _ , he thought bitterly. 

The adrenaline was wearing off and, as usual, being replaced with the sudden wave of exhaustion, which paired nicely with the way the word ‘creep’ was making him feel. Bruce curled in on himself, the rest of the conversation between Nat and Clint fading into the background and not registering. 

Sure Bruce wasn’t the most personable man alive nor did he give off a particularly approachable vibe sitting in his far corner of the bar but a creep? He had always kind of wanted to move away from his awkwardness but to graduate from that to a creep wasn’t the way he ideally saw himself doing that. 

_ Wonderful _ . 

“I’m gonna go, Nat. Sorry for the mess. I’ll make it up to you. I’ll see you when I see you,” Bruce said, not waiting for a reply as he gathered his things quickly into his bag and headed out of the bar, ignoring the sound of her voice calling him back. 

The cool autumn breeze wrapped around him invitingly and Bruce crossed his arms over his chest as he walked back home. 

+

  
  


“Banner!” Tony called, banging on the door. 

Bruce cracked open his eyes, his whole body felt heavy and empty at the same time. His head ached but his stomach growled. He closed his eyes, figuring Tony would lose interest and go away soon enough. 

Unfortunately and unsurprisingly, Tony did no such thing. He barged into the apartment using his key and stormed into Bruce’s bedroom, flicking on the light and Bruce pulled the blanket over his face to shield his eyes from the sudden artificial brightness. 

“Bruce,” Tony said and his tone was so off, so worried, that it made Bruce peek one eye out to look at him. “What the fuck? You can’t do that, buddy.” 

“Do what?” he asked, his voice thick from sleep and disuse. 

“I have a list but let’s start at the top: you can’t shut everyone out and not answer your phone or texts for four days.” 

Bruce squinted, trying to remember the last four days but they were a bit of a blur. He remembered coming home after the bar situation and crawling into bed. He remembered spending a lot of the next day in bed but then he was sure he texted Tony back. He remembered seeing the text, picking up his phone and reading and did he not… 

He rolled to grab his phone off the bedside table only to find that it wasn’t there and then he searched for it amongst his bedding, finding it under a pillow, unlocked, battery almost dead and Tony’s message open but not replied to. 

“Oh.” 

“Yeah, ‘ _ oh’ _ , Bruce.” 

Bruce wasn’t sure what was worse: the fact that he didn’t know four days had passed or the way Tony was looking at him. He usually reserved that look for when he was well and truly worried and Bruce hated himself for putting that look on his face. 

“I didn’t spend it  _ all _ in bed.” 

“That’s actually the last thing on my list,” Tony said, coming further into the room and sitting on the end of the bed, his hand finding Bruce’s leg and resting there. 

“When did you get back?” Bruce asked instead of commenting on anything Tony had said. 

Tony laughed mirthlessly. “Nope, not happening. Bruce, explain.” 

“There’s nothing to explain. I came home and didn’t feel like socializing.” 

“That’s a load of bull and you know it. For  _ four _ days?” 

“Why’s that surprising? I’ve gone longer.” 

“So then nothing happened?” Bruce shook his head. “Nothing sparked this sudden desire for total isolation?” 

When Bruce shook his head again, Tony hummed, crossing his arms. “Okay, so then everything Natasha texted me was a lie, right? Because Natasha would take the time out of her day to text me  _ nonsense _ about you and some dude at the bar getting into a fight? So what, you went all karate kid on him?” 

Bruce let out a tiny huff. “I did not and for the last time I don’t know  _ karate _ , I know Brazilian jiu jitsu,” he clarified. He’d learned it while living in Brazil to help him to focus and redirect his anger. Also he figured it wouldn’t hurt to be able to defend himself. 

“Tomato potato,” Tony said flippantly and Bruce opened his mouth to comment but ultimately decided against it. “Anyway, what made you unleash your inner Mr Miyagi? Did he try to sit at our loner table?” 

Bruce rolled his eyes and then said, feeling a faint remnant of the anger, “He pushed me back against the booth, stabbed his finger in my chest. The conversation was already hostile and it just escalated when he touched me.” 

“Wait, back up, and put it in park—someone got  _ rough _ with you?” 

“Well, no, but—”

“ _ Why _ ?” 

Bruce could see it in Tony’s face, the confusion, the anger. Despite his easily aggravated temper, for the most part Bruce was a mild man who kept to himself and didn’t ruffle feathers, not intentionally at least. He liked blending into the crowd and being a silent observer of the world unless he was well and truly comfortable then he could be as loud as anyone else. 

“He noticed me taking notes. The guy—Clint—he’s my muse. I guess,  _ was _ my muse. I know it’s creepy—”

“It’s not creepy. I mean, I was honored to be your muse, he should be too,” Tony interjected and it warmed Bruce from the inside out to hear Tony defend him with such conviction. 

“Yeah, well, he didn’t see it that way. He came over to ask what I was writing, thought I was a reporter and I told him I’m a writer. He didn’t believe me and then he just shoved me. Nothing big.” 

“A reporter? The hell’s he got that the media wants to know?” 

Bruce shrugged. “No clue. He shoved me, I shoved back, Natasha came over, and I left. Haven’t been back since.” 

“Not once? How have you gotten any writing done?” Bruce’s gaze fell guiltily to the floor and he heard Tony’s soft, sorrowful sigh. “I see. So you scrapped everything or…?” 

“Everything,” Bruce answered, looking up but his eyes darted away from Tony’s quickly, focusing on a framed photo of the two of them that sat on his shelf. He ran his tongue over his teeth. “I just feel like this was a sign that it’s not right.” 

“But you had so much. A couple chapters, right?” Bruce nodded. Tony chewed his lip and then patted Bruce’s leg resolutely, standing. “Come on.” 

“Where are we going?” 

“First off,  _ you’re _ going to shower and then once you’re all spick and span, we’re going to the bar.” 

Bruce froze, just about to throw back the covers and get up. “Tony, why?” 

“Because,” he began, already heading for Bruce’s closet to pick out his clothes for him, “Nat’s worried and we both know a text won’t suffice. She’ll want to see that you haven’t wasted away. Secondly, you and I both know you’ve already figured out which days he is and isn’t there so would he be there today?” 

Bruce glared but he gave in quickly. “No, never seen him Mondays or Thursdays.” 

“Perfect. Shower, get dressed, and let’s go.” 

“Now?” 

“Yeah, why not? You need the clean up, some socializing wouldn’t be too bad, and I could use a drink. You know I just got off a plane, right? Six hours, Bruce. Sure, I was in business class but that doesn’t change the fact that I had to breathe recycled air and share a bathroom with way too many people full of inflight meals and airport junk food,” Tony said, continuing to ramble about the highs and lows of his trip while Bruce scrounged up the will to leave his bed. 

He was grateful for Tony’s rambling, though, and he figured that Tony was aware. It helped ground him, gave him something to focus on as his body moved on autopilot.

After his shower, he came out to find an outfit laid out for him. 

“I already know you’ve been dressing like your name is Compost and you own an eggplant farm, so that changes again now that I’m back,” Tony said, texting as he spoke and waving one hand towards the clothes on the bed. 

Bruce eyed the outfit for a moment but ultimately he didn’t really care what he was wearing as long as it wasn’t skinny jeans or PVC. Tony had tried to force him into both before. 

Bruce dropped his towel, always having felt incredibly comfortable around Tony, and grabbed the boxers he had laid out. And really? Choosing his underwear too? It made Bruce laugh and he thought he saw Tony’s mouth lift into a smile while finishing whatever he was typing. 

Bruce noticed Tony’s eyes slide to him quickly, giving him a once over as he got dressed. He caught it but didn’t comment. He knew Tony was only trying to look out for him, no matter how much it might irk him. 

“I feel like you,” Bruce said, looking at himself in the mirror once he had put everything on. 

“That’s not too horrible, is it?” 

“Could be worse,” he said and Tony looked over, a smirk on his lips and Bruce matched it. “I kind of missed you.”

“Yeah? My notifications tell a very different story.”

  
  


“So how much of your rush to get back to the bar has to do with Steve?” Bruce asked, looking over at Tony who was just barely keeping his composure. He was fidgeting as they walked, constantly fixing his shirt collar and messing with his hair. He had checked his phone more times than usual which was  _ a lot _ not to mention the overly nice outfit. 

He had seen Tony go through a number of men and women and the only person he had ever seen him get this excited over was Pepper and that was Tony’s first and only long term relationship. He hoped Steve would be his next. He really liked them together and, if he was being selfish, he loved that Tony’s boyfriend wasn’t someone new he would have to get to know. 

Tony cleared his throat before he spoke. “No idea what you’re talking about. Steve? Who’s that?” 

Bruce rolled his eyes but bumped his shoulder into Tony’s and Tony grinned. 

“Okay, so maybe I’m a little excited to see him. You remember when I told you we FaceTimed?” Tony asked, and of course Bruce remembered. Tony was a texter unless he was close to you. Phone calls, video calls—unless work-related and honestly even then too—were so very unwelcome. And Bruce totally understood that. 

So when Tony called Bruce to tell him that he and Steve had FaceTimed—Bruce had already been curious when Steve said he preferred to call that night at the bar and Tony had immediately agreed—it was fair to say that he was surprised. 

“Very clearly, yes.” Tony had also been talking a thousand words a minute when he called, barely stopping to take a breath because he was just so excited about his calls with Steve and how well they had gone. 

“Well, my near-sighted friend—”

“Was that  _ really _ necessary?” 

“—what I _didn’t_ tell you is that none of those calls were shorter than an hour. In fact!” He paused for dramatic effect. “One of them was nearly _four_ _hours_.” 

“ _ Four hours _ ?” Bruce repeated, genuinely shocked now. “Wait. Was it a dirty call?” 

“You know, I’m not even offended that you ask that because if I were you I’d have assumed that too but  _ no _ ! We  _ talked _ !” 

“Talked!” 

“I know right,” he said excitedly, grabbing Bruce’s arm and shaking him as they walked down the street. It threw Bruce off balance and he almost fell off the curb but Tony grabbed him and they giggled like a couple of school girls. “God, Bruce, I like him so much.” 

“Like…  _ relationship _ like him?” 

Tony turned to him, biting his bottom lip nervously as he nodded. His eyebrows raised in surprise at his own answer. “Yeah… yeah, most definitely. He’s… he’s... I don’t even know how to describe Steve. He’s a good listener and you know that’s a must for me because I can go on and on.”

“Yes, I have a lot of experience with your tangents.” 

“And he’s funny. Sometimes in a dorky way but he’s got this deadpan humor too that took me by surprise. He makes me  _ laugh _ , Bruce.” 

“And by the look on your face, he makes you smile too. You don’t even know how happy I am for you.” 

“And to think I have  _ you _ to thank.”

“What? Why  _ me?”  _ Bruce laughed. 

“If not for you banning my underworld-level of depravity bar and taking me to Nat’s, there’s a good chance I never would’ve met him.” 

“Well, you’re welcome. I’m really glad that all of this is what came from me not wanting some random drunk dude grinding on me anymore.” 

They laughed and then were quiet for a block until Tony spoke up again. 

“You know actual relationships aren’t my strong suit,” Tony began and Bruce just listened, “so I’ll probably have a lot of doubts and say some completely crazy shit but… help me not screw this one up? Please?” 

“Of course. I’ll be right here to slap some sense into you. Literally, if need be.” 

“You’re just  _ waiting _ for the chance to slap me, aren’t you?” 

“Can’t say I haven’t thought about it before. Especially when you made me wear those leather pants. To go  _ dancing _ .” 

Tony sucked in an apologetic breath. “Yeah… that was a fun night,” he finished, his tone happier and Bruce rolled his eyes. “Now come on. Let’s go see Steve.” 

The moment they walked inside, Natasha headed over, her gaze sharp and scrutinizing as it ran over Bruce. When she made it back up to his face, he saw a small smile there and she gently reached out and pulled him into a hug that he wasn’t expecting. 

“Answer your damn phone, Banner,” she snapped. Ah, yes, that was more like Natasha. 

“Sorry,” he said sheepishly. 

“I’m glad you came back. Been saving your spot for you.” 

He looked over at the table and then shook his head. “Maybe we’ll sit somewhere else today.” 

Her eyebrows raised but she didn’t otherwise comment and Tony was too busy craning his neck to look for Steve to have heard Bruce but he followed and soon noticed that something was off. Bruce was grateful that she didn’t seem to want to talk about what happened. 

“Where are we going?” Tony asked, still looking around for Steve and almost waving when he saw a flash of blond but it wasn’t Steve. 

“A new spot,” Bruce said, leading himself and Tony over to the opposite side of the bar to sit. 

Tony hopped up onto the high booth seats and Bruce climbed up with him, taking in his new view and surroundings. It was different, of course, and he felt a slight disconnect that made him uncomfortable but he figured he would get used to it. His safe haven spot on the other side no longer felt like that. It had been intruded upon and though Bruce wasn’t  _ that _ finicky about these types of things, it just didn’t have the same ataraxia it once did. 

“So… this is different,” Tony observed, patting the seat and looking at Bruce who was nose-deep in the drinks menu. He thought he might try something new as well. “Not gonna get your usual?” 

“No, figured I’d change it up.” 

“ _ Change it up _ ? Did you go off the deep end while I was gone? It was only three weeks, Bruce. You should save a mental breakdown for when I’m away for a couple months.” 

“I’m fine. I just… want something different.” 

Tony watched him and Bruce made a point of sticking his nose even further into the menu and trying to block him out which he knew was childish but all their arguments were childish. 

“Speaking of, what did you get up to during your four days of radio silence apart from an insanity spiral and not bathing? Honestly, why is hygiene the first thing that goes out the window with you?” 

Bruce snorted at that and sighed. “Just tried to start over but I’m as idea-less as I was before Clint.” 

“Ah, Clint. Gotta get used to Mystery Man having a name now,” he said, and Bruce knew he was trying to get a reaction but he didn’t give him one. “Well,” Tony continued instead, “what if you just went with it? With his character. See where it takes you and if you end up with a fully-fledged novel, keep it, send it off. If you can’t get past chapter eight after a month of trying, we’ll take it to the East river and give it a Viking funeral. How’s that sound?” 

“I just… I don’t know.” 

Bruce wasn’t  _ so _ very particular about his writing that he now felt the sanctity of the process had been compromised or something like that. He just wasn’t sure he wanted to write a story about a man he did not like. Especially when he liked the character he had based on them so very much. 

“Sounds to me like experimentation is needed then. If you don’t know, you can’t say I’m wrong with one hundred percent certainty meaning I could very well still be right,” Tony argued. 

“Tony—”

Tony scoffed. “Seriously? All because your muse is a douchebag? People love douchebag characters.” 

“Give me one example of a douchebag character people like.” Bruce raised an eyebrow, waiting. 

“Steve Harrington. Squidward. Yzma,” Tony listed. “I could go on.” 

“Please don’t. I’m still trying to come to terms with the fact that those three are your immediate go-tos  _ and _ that I actually agree.” Bruce dropped his head forward into his menu, closing it around his head. 

“Please remove that. No offense to Natasha but do you even know how many people touch that thing in an hour?” Tony reached over and gently moved the menu away from Bruce’s face. “If you wanna face-plant use your farmer’s market bag.” 

“I didn’t even bring it.” 

“I literally realized that a second after I said it. No bag means no writing stuff. You’re serious about this, aren’t you?” 

Bruce leaned back now since the option to hide behind the menu had been taken away. He debated for half a second and then let his head fall onto Tony’s shoulder. Tony reached around to pat his face gently. 

“Aw, Brucey,” he said softly. “We’ll fix this. You know we will. Just... work with me. A month. That’s all I’m asking. Besides, it’s not like your character has the same personality.” 

“Yeah, I know but… fine,” Bruce conceded and Tony did a terrible job of hiding his excitement at having won the argument. 

In fact, he fist-pumped the air and raised his glass of water that Natasha had brought over at some point during their discussion. “Let’s drink to me winning an argument with you. It really only happens every eight hundred years.” 

Bruce eyed Tony’s raised glass with a mixture of amusement and frustration but he lifted his own and clinked it, settling back into his seat and raising the menu again, still scouring it for something he might like as Steve came over, radiating enough happiness for all three of them. 

  
  


+

  
  


If there was anything Bruce was grateful for—of course with the exception of Tony—it was the school semester starting up again. Summer was coming to a close and he could already hear the sound of himself writing on the smartboard in front of fifty pairs of eyes varying along the asleep-intrigued spectrum. 

Bruce didn’t teach full time anymore. He’d traded that in when his books started to take off but he kept a part time job lecturing because he knew that as much as he did honestly love writing, he couldn’t stay away from his one true love—teaching. 

There was something about seeing that same joy and fascination on someone else’s face that Bruce first felt when he’d discovered writing that no other activity could match. He loved being able to instill in others the same respect for language that he had—any language, all language, not just English. 

His education was extensive because Bruce Banner didn’t do half-assing and was naturally a very curious individual, never satisfied until he had answers and, what more,  _ understood _ the answers he got. He was also a very intelligent individual. And actually, he was pretty sure that, in addition to the million other reasons, the fact that he and Tony had both started freshman year as sixteen-year-olds and were thrown into a dorm together was why they had grown so close so fast. 

Bruce had taken a different route to Tony’s physics and engineering degrees and PhD and instead got himself a degree in English as well as a PhD in Language and Literature. 

He’d been working at the university for close to three years before he started on his first book. Once it had taken off, the stress of teaching—preparing lessons and syllabuses, helping students, grading papers and everything else—became impossible to manage along with the attention Bruce’s book required. Between edits he needed to be present for, signings, interviews, and writing the sequel, teaching had to become a part time thing. His agent had encouraged him to drop it altogether but Bruce couldn’t. 

Maybe it was the nerd in him—the part of him that loved walking across the quad early in the morning, hearing the sounds of students milling in, or simply the comfort he felt when stood in front of them all talking about his favorite subject that he never felt in any other social setting—but he simply could not give it up. 

Plus, it was refreshing to be around like-minded people, whether other members of faculty or eager students. He and Tony’s fields of expertise barely ever overlapped so the moment Tony went off on a rant about engineering or the laws of thermodynamics, Bruce was lost and as soon as Bruce delved too deeply into symbolism or went off on a rant about a specific literary movement, Tony fought to stay tuned in to the conversation. 

There was just something… the word ‘magical’ was too cheesy even for Bruce to only use in his head but that was the only word he and his PhD could come up with. There was something  _ magical _ about standing in front of those young, eager minds, explaining the difference between assonance and internal rhyming at the bright and early hour of eight in the morning. 

This job was one of the few occasions for which Bruce put effort into his outfit. Well, it wasn’t anything fancy but everything was ironed and matched from his dark slacks to his light blue button up. And he had not only washed and moisturized his hair that morning but even gone to the barber the day before and gotten a clean shave. He liked looking presentable for class, it raised his confidence and amplified that indescribable feeling. 

“Rewarding,” Bruce mumbled out loud, finding a word that he liked more than ‘magical’ and having forgotten in his weeks spent mostly at home alone during the summer break that talking to himself was not actually socially acceptable. 

“Huh?” The student behind the cash register said, taking the money Bruce handed her in exchange for his coffee and chocolate croissant. 

“Oh, nothing. Just a mental note to self,” he said, his smile coming easily as he adjusted his glasses. 

“Gotcha. Here’s your change, professor.” 

He dropped the coins into the tip jar on the counter and the young woman thanked him. 

Bruce walked away from the campus coffee shop with the gentle smile still intact and a positive outlook towards the day that lay ahead. He only had two lectures lined up for the day—his 8am and another at 2pm—and otherwise he planned to do some brainstorming for the new character. That was the only part of the day he  _ wasn’t _ looking forward to. 

Ever since his run in with his muse, Bruce hadn’t been able to come up with anything else. 

Every single idea that formed in his head matched the Ronin character so well— _ too well— _ and he was struggling to come up with a different character. 

Nothing was working. He could not drag himself away from what he had started no matter how much he wanted to. He hadn’t seen Clint since that night. Or rather, he  _ had _ but the two times that Clint had shown up at the bar when Bruce and Tony were there, Bruce had abruptly left. He did not want to experience another hostile interaction with the man. 

Or any, for that matter. 

Sometimes when Clint showed up, Bruce hung out in the back with Sam and Natasha, feeling bad for pulling Tony away from Steve so soon. Bruce had argued that he could go home alone but Tony refused to let him and Bruce refused to stand in the way of Tony’s relationship. Those two were really starting to build something and Bruce couldn’t be happier. 

Okay, so maybe he was the  _ tiniest _ bit bitter but not in a way that made him want to play saboteur. He was just bitter because he wanted that too. But for the most part he was happy and, if the inquisitive texts he received from Rhodey and Pepper about Steve and Tony were any indication, they seemed to be pretty happy about it all as well. 

Besides, Bruce was too busy for a relationship. Or so he had been telling himself for years since his last big break up, which reminded him that he had never responded to the letter in his desk drawer. The time allotted for that had long since passed while Tony was away and to do anything other than to leave it now would seem terribly petty and just downright rude. 

Bruce entered his office and inhaled deeply, closing his eyes. He was going to leave thoughts about that letter and his book outside the office and outside the lecture hall. 

Today was about teaching. 

Today was  _ not _ about either of those other things or either of the people connected to them.

He laid his bag down and his writing notebook, burying the notebook underneath two folders because he couldn’t bear the sight of the damn thing at the moment. Not if he was going to regain that positive forward momentum with which he had started the day. 

He turned on the decrepit excuse for a computer the university provided and waited for it to boot up, regretting that he had forgotten his personal laptop today. 

_ Positive thoughts,  _ he reminded himself firmly. 

As the computer flashed to life and the spinning, loading icon sat there mocking him, Bruce sighed and with it went his positive thoughts. Tony would have an actual hissy fit if he even had to enter Bruce’s office, let alone try to google something. 

Bruce’s phone pinged and he dug it out of his jacket pocket. 

**Tony:** have a fun first day at school, make friends, remember to wash your hands 

Bruce chuckled, shaking his head at the message and sending off a quick reply asking Tony why he was awake. 

**Tony:** maybe I never slept.

**Bruce:** go to sleep or i’ll tell Rhodey

Tony sent back a middle finger emoji and Bruce smiled, put his phone away, and went over his notes. 

Lecture one:  _ Practical Stylistics  _

“Dr. Banner,” one student who had been particularly vocal the entire lecture called, making his way through the students who were packing up, to come talk to Bruce. 

Bruce looked up, pausing his organization of notes to give the young man his full attention. He re-situated his glasses on his nose and awaited the question, trying not to have too much of a reaction when the boy tripped on the last step and very nearly landed on his face. Honestly, his clumsiness put Bruce’s own anti-socializing nerves at ease. 

“Whoops,” he said, chuckling nervously and then standing upright to speak, his laptop clutched to his chest and arms wrapped around it. “Hi, I’m Peter Parker.”

“Nice to meet you, Mr Parker. I appreciated your contributions today.” 

“Oh, thanks.” Peter smiled and didn’t speak, hugging his laptop closer and Bruce was unsure of what to do. 

“Uh, you had a question, Mr Parker?”

“Oh!” he said, his cheeks warming and turning a bright pink color. “Not a question, I just wanted to say I’m a fan. I’ve, uh—I’ve read your books. Sorry, if this is inappropriate.”

“Thank you,” Bruce replied sincerely, that same warmth he felt when Tony reassured him now blossomed from his chest outward again and was really making his day. “It's not inappropriate at all, I appreciate you letting me know. Though I would like to keep it between us, if that’s alright? Otherwise, the next lecture might turn into a Q&A. ” 

“Oh, yeah, of course. No problem. I—”

“Peter!” a young woman standing at the top of the stairs near the door called and then clapped a hand to her mouth when she realized Peter was talking to Bruce. “Sorry, Professor Banner!” 

Bruce, being the mayor of Awkward City, sent her a thumbs up and then turned back to Peter. “I don’t want you to be late for your next class. We’ll talk next time. And if you have any questions or just feel like telling me your favorite parts, my office hours and room number are in the syllabus.” 

Peter beamed at him and Bruce felt like perhaps rewarding  _ and _ magical were both appropriate terms for the feeling. 

“Yeah, definitely. Awesome. Okay, I gotta go but so great meeting you, Professor Banner.” 

Walking back to his office, Bruce hummed. He did not consider himself particularly musical and a few of the notes fell flat but he didn’t care. He was in a good mood and wasn’t that a rarity? 

He was almost back to building C where his office was located when he stopped at the sound of his name being called by a voice that felt distinctly familiar. Familiar but unwelcome. 

Bruce turned slowly, his eyes going wide and he immediately turned back around, head down, and picked up the pace towards the doors. 

“Bruce! Wait! Please.” 

Bruce stopped again, tense, a knot in his stomach. He turned and glared. 

“What are you doing here?” Bruce demanded, the words coming out sharp and cold. 

“I, uh… I work… here. I’m a security guard,” Clint said somewhat shyly, seeming the slightest bit ashamed and Bruce would have assured him that there was nothing to be ashamed about if he liked the man. 

As that was not the case, he said nothing. Although it did raise more questions: Why would a reporter be interested in a security guard? Why had Bruce never seen him before anywhere and now he was _everywhere_? Was he stalking Bruce and this whole experience was some kind of elaborate reverse psychology to make Bruce feel like the creep? 

Yeah, maybe that last one was a stretch but he was a writer and having a wild imagination was kind of his area of expertise. If only it wasn’t paired with crippling anxiety and an unhealthy dose of paranoia. 

“Good for you. What do you want?” 

“Alright, I get it. I was an ass. I’m sorry.” 

Bruce narrowed his eyes, unaccepting of the apology. It didn’t sound very genuine anyway. “Doesn’t answer the question.” He turned to leave. 

“Wait,” Clint said, looking at Bruce, then at the lanyard around his neck, and then at folders he was carrying. 

Meanwhile Bruce was cursing himself for finding Clint so unbelievably attractive in that uniform. It was like it had been tailor made for him. Weren’t those things supposed to be a generic size? And how did anyone make prison grey look good? Clint had absolutely no business being as handsome as he was in that uniform. 

Only Bruce could simultaneously want to never have to see someone ever again  _ and _ wish he could touch their arms. Good grief. 

“Why are  _ you _ here?” Clint asked, frowning suspiciously. “You said you were a writer.” 

“I lecture here part time. Look, what do you want? If this is about the notes—“ 

“No, no. I honest to god just wanted to apologize.”  _ Oh. _ “Nat chewed me out afterwards and then kinda explained.” Bruce’s eyebrows raised at that. “Well, she told me who you were.” 

“And who am I exactly?” 

“R.B Banner,” Clint answered and Bruce tensed slightly at the sound of his pen name. He wasn’t even sure why, it’s not like it was a big secret. Anyone with internet access and the strange desire to type his name into google could find out that information but at the same time, hearing Clint say it so openly made him feel exposed. Like Clint had just uncovered some big scandal Bruce was involved in. “So, uh, the notes—”

“They’re not about you,” Bruce snapped, angry and more than a little caught off guard as Clint’s question pulled him out of his rumination. “Not anymore.” 

Bruce registered the flash of emotion across Clint’s face and the way his eyebrows pulled together to deepen the frown that was already there. He registered it but he didn’t care. 

“Excuse me,” Bruce said, turning on his heels and heading for the door, not stopping or looking back. Once inside, he made a beeline for his office and closed the door, something he wasn’t usually given to doing because he believed an open door encouraged students to come talk to him but he needed a moment. 

_ Great _ . 

Yet another safe space was tainted by Clint Barton. What was next? Was he going to move into Bruce’s apartment? 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you. I knocked. A few times. But your music was too loud.” Bruce just continued to glare at Clint. “Got a minute? Just to talk?”   
> Bruce checked his watch.  
>  “Yes. I have a minute.”

“As a security guard? Seems shady,” Tony said, looking over project specs at his work table as he built a miniature scale model of the idea he had pitched to his boss. Tony had converted the back two guest rooms of his apartment into a makeshift workshop. When they weren’t on Bruce’s couch watching movies, they were in there while he tinkered. 

“That’s what I thought,” Bruce said, tossing popcorn into his mouth and trying not to sink too far into the beanbag chair he had decided to sit on. “But how would he have ever known I work there? He seemed genuinely surprised to see me.” 

Tony shrugged. “Natasha maybe?” Bruce shook his head. “But I actually just meant that the job description seems shady in relation to him assuming you were a reporter.” 

“Yeah, I thought about that too. Nothing is adding up.” 

“Maybe he’s ex-military. Black ops or something. A lot of guys who go into security are. His unit could’ve gotten up to—channel lock pliers—no good and someone wants answers,” Tony theorized, taking the pliers Bruce handed him. 

“Maybe,” Bruce hummed in consideration. 

That could be it. He could see Clint in a military uniform. Although he wasn’t sure how much of that was him fitting the mold and how much was Bruce just wanting to see him in said uniform. 

Bruce rubbed his forehead, closing his eyes. He needed to get a handle on his attraction to Clint. It was just about the stupidest, most illogical thing he’d done in a long time. And honestly, that was already a long list so he really needed to nip this in the bud. 

“Maybe,” Bruce said after too long of a pause and Tony wasn’t quite lost enough in his work for the lengthiness of it to escape him. 

“What’s up? Something else bothering you?” 

Bruce sighed, relaxing into the beanbag that he had accepted was slowly consuming him and that he soon would become one with. 

Bruce took his glasses off, wiping them on his shirt before he spoke, trying to buy himself some time to find the right words and keep Tony far away from Bruce’s moronic little crush. “Just… frustrated. That’s all.” He dropped his head back and closed his eyes. 

“Sexually?” 

“Is everything about sex with you?” 

“Now that I’m finally getting some… yeah, yeah, pretty much but that doesn’t invalidate my incredibly astute observation. It’s been, what? A couple of months since you even hooked up with anyone, let alone went on an actual date. Did you even respond to B—”

“Can everyone just—stop asking me that!” Bruce nearly yelled, his hands balled into fists so tightly that the knuckles had gone white. He was sitting up now, breathing roughly, and Tony had paused what he was doing, his fingers stilled above the mini-model. 

Tony sighed, running a hand through his hair to push it away from his forehead. He put the pliers down and sat back, lifting the goggles off his face. 

“Bruce,” he said and his tone of voice was so gentle, such a rare tone for him, that it pulled Bruce out of his sudden rage. And it wasn’t even rage. It was pain, hurt, masquerading as rage. 

Bruce stared at the floor, his hands relaxing and his shoulders falling down from around his ears. “I’m sorry,” Bruce breathed. 

“S’alright. It’s a touchy subject and I know that I tend to approach it with a severe lack of bedside manner,” Tony replied, coming around to the other side of his work bench to lean against it with his arms crossed, looking down at Bruce. “However.” Bruce’s eyes flickered up to him. “It doesn’t mean I’m wrong about you needing to address it.” 

Bruce maintained eye contact, his eyebrows pulled together in a deep frown that wrinkled his forehead. “I think I missed my window.” 

“You declined the invitation?” 

“Never responded.” 

“You know that’s worse right? Infinitely worse. It’s childish, Bruce. And—”

“I know, I know. It’s—” He pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling the familiar throbbing of a headache trying to firmly make itself known. 

It always happened. 

He repressed and he stomped down and he directed all his feelings inward and then would find himself triggered by something or someone and it would all come rushing to the surface like a volcanic eruption. And it left him feeling tired and wired all at once, which usually led to a headache. 

“It’s what, Bruce?” There was that tone again. The soft one Tony had been using for years to reach through the rage-barrier and talk to Bruce. 

“It’s in my desk drawer. I just… RSVPing didn’t feel right and declining felt so… definite.”

“I get it. Buddy, you know I do. You were there to pull me out of a bottle and away from my computer when it was me with Pepper. Hell, you and Rhodey didn’t just get us on speaking terms you helped us be friends again and I couldn’t be more grateful because we both know Pepper is a person worth knowing.” Tony paused, seeming unsure. He chewed the inside of his cheek and then spoke. “I don’t know if I can get you and Betty there but I’ll try if you let me.” 

Tony had been there for all of it. Bruce met Betty during their junior year (and her freshman) of undergrad; the two of them shared an elective. It was mostly just flirting at first—stolen glances, lending a pen or piece of paper, a shy ‘good morning’. Bruce wasn’t inexperienced but he had always been awkward and had a hard time realizing when people were into him. 

Tony was the one who had slapped some sense into him. Literally, one good smack to the back of the head and a clear ‘she likes you, genius’ and Bruce made a move and asked her out. It went well, they hit it off, made it official rather quickly and things continued on an upswing for a while after that. They dated for a few months, happily in love. 

That is, until Betty took him home to meet her parents during Thanksgiving break. Her father didn’t like Bruce right off the bat. Interrogated him the entire meal, belittled his degree, mocked the way he dressed, spoke, every little thing about him. 

Bruce held his cool for much longer than he thought he could and then he just couldn’t any longer. Thaddeus Ross pushed and pushed until finally Bruce exploded right there at the table. 

He’d given the General exactly what he wanted, slamming his fists down on the table, stabbing a finger in his face, letting out all kinds of vile and obscene things that Thaddeus more than deserved. 

The argument escalated into a full on fight. They were standing, both yelling and neither listening, both in each other’s space. They were almost chest to chest, screaming at the top of their lungs. Someone was pulling at Bruce’s arm but the rage had blinded him and he was like a mine waiting to be stepped on with no hope of turning back. 

When Betty finally did manage to get Bruce to take a step back, he snatched his arm away from her. He didn’t mean to, he wasn’t mad at Betty, but he was still coming down from such a blinding fury. 

Thaddeus told him to leave, to get out and never come back and to stay away from his daughter. He told him that no man who disrespected him in his own house like that was fit for her. 

Bruce listened in the moment, figuring de-escalation was his only route. He left but by Monday morning at school, he was right back at Betty’s side. 

They dated in secret. She even changed his contact to some random name and gave him a random picture. They thought it was hilarious and something about the illicitness of their relationship was incredibly attractive. 

This went on for a few more months without Thaddeus knowing. Nights spent with Bruce out in the city or in his dorm were code-named ‘study hall’ and ‘extra credit project.’ According to Betty, her father assumed she was focusing on her studies, not hiding her secret relationship and forbidden boyfriend. 

But he knew. Thaddeus knew and he confronted Bruce and he—

“Bruce?” 

Bruce looked up, his trip down memory lane having drained his energy more so than his earlier outburst. His body felt like it was lined with lead and his neck was stiff. He rubbed his tired eyes, the thought passing quickly through his mind to look for where he’d dropped his glasses. 

He sighed. “Yeah?” 

“You ok?” 

“Not really.” 

The bean bag shifted and then there was a warmth pressed against Bruce’s left side. Tony’s hands were in his lap, fidgeting with a tiny piece of fiberglass. 

“You know, you never did tell me what happened. What her dad said to you.” 

“I know,” Bruce said quietly but didn’t further elaborate. After a few long seconds of silence, Tony seemed to understand that he wouldn’t be getting that answer tonight either, so he carried on. 

“It’s Betty, Bruce,” Tony said gently, turning ever so slightly to meet his eyes. “I’m sure she wouldn’t mind a late reply if it was coming from you.” 

“And if I don’t want to go?” 

Tony snorted softly. “You’re a bad liar.” 

+

  
  


“Mr Parker?” Bruce called, listening intently to the young man’s answer. He was an incredibly bright kid. It hadn’t taken Bruce long to see that. Bright and eager. He was currently the highlight of Bruce’s morning lecture. 

“It’s an example of a motif,” Peter finished. 

Bruce smiled, someone had done the assigned reading before coming to class it seemed. Bruce didn’t care for teacher’s pets but he did love students who very obviously wanted to learn. 

“Excellent,” he said, walking to the far end of the board where he hadn’t written yet and grabbing a smart pen. “Alright, let’s see how many other motifs we can identify and how each contributes toward the development of the theme. I think you’ll all find this really cool. I know I do.” 

“For homework, I want you all to read pages 175 to 190 in your English Grammar in Use books,” Bruce said, watching the faces of the students. “You’re also welcome not to but you never know when I might give a quiz that could reflect on your grade.” 

“Isn’t that a little dictatorial?” Michelle Jones, who Bruce had learned preferred to go by MJ, said, standing beside Peter. 

Bruce leaned back against his desk, his palms flat on the surface. He shrugged. “I said might reflect. Don’t worry, MJ, I’d never blindside you with anything important.” 

MJ narrowed her eyes at Bruce but nodded and walked away. Odd that he felt weirdly intimidated by her but he liked her. She and Peter made a cute couple, he thought. 

Bruce smiled and then turned to start gathering his things and packing them up, his mind already trying to slip into writer mode but stalling like a flooded engine. 

Not only was he worried about being out of ideas, but there was the almost constant worry that he would run into Clint again and he had Tony’s talk with him in there too and honestly, it was starting to feel rather claustrophobic in his own head. 

“Hey, Professor Banner?” Peter said, pushing through people again to get down to him. 

Bruce startled, so deep in his own mind. He looked over his shoulder and said, “What can I do for you, Peter?” 

“I’ve got kind of a weird request.” 

“Shoot,” Bruce said, smiling because if he was being honest, Peter was his favorite student already. 

“I have a writing problem and was wondering if you’d be willing to take a look at it.” 

Bruce’s brows knitted together in confusion. He adjusted his glasses. “Um, Peter, I like you, you’re a joy to have in class but I think study hall might—”

“Oh, no! No, not like a homework problem. A story. Nothin’ big, just something that’s been in my head for a while. I just—yeah, I know you’re my Stylistics professor but you’re my favorite and I thought maybe you’d wanna—it’s okay,” he rambled, dismissing himself as his cheeks warmed red. He rubbed the back of his neck and looked away, embarrassed. “I just… Yeah. It’s okay. Sorry to waste your time.” 

Peter turned to walk off and Bruce had a quick debate with himself about his ability to be sociable outside of the lecture hall. Obviously, he knew that if he could do it there, he could do it anywhere. And who knows? Maybe since the subject matter was the same, it would be alright. 

Swallowing down his anxiousness, he said, “Peter, I’d love to check it out. Why don’t you swing by my office later when you have some time? You have my office hours, right?”

Peter’s entire face lit up. “Uh, yeah. Yeah! Awesome, thanks so much, Professor Banner.” 

Bruce chuckled lightly, turning again to unplug his laptop and pack it away. With all of his things gathered, he made his way back to his office. 

  
  


Bruce’s eyes were closed and his music was playing loudly in his ears as he tried to drown out everything else, trying to recreate the perfect thinking conditions Natasha’s bar gave him. It was semi-successful. He was able to push aside everything else but he still couldn’t come up with any new ideas, not a single one, and it seemed that even The Cure could not fix his problem. 

Honestly, he didn’t even realize the joke until now. He would remember it for later to tell Tony who was the only person he knew that would appreciate it. 

He changed the song, the silence in between absolutely deafening. All of Bruce’s thoughts came swarming forward again and suddenly boom! There was The Clint Problem™ front and center, actually overshadowing his Betty problem, surprisingly. 

Bruce was beginning to dislike Ronin. 

No, that wasn’t true no matter how much he tried to force the thought on himself. He kept hoping that if he could convince himself that he didn’t like Ronin, it would clear the way for some new thoughts, new ideas, but, as it was, he loved Ronin and he didn’t see anything changing that anytime soon. 

He was so down-to-earth, so human. He took everything in stride and joked his way through the hard parts. He was rugged and masculine but not emotionally closed off. He felt things, he let himself feel things. He wasn’t afraid of being himself no matter what that meant and he was always looking for ways to help out, especially when he knew others might just turn a blind eye or miss it altogether. 

His character was created quite selfishly. He wasn’t created for average audience consumption; he was made specifically for Bruce. He was tailored to Bruce’s tastes and Bruce wasn’t ashamed to admit that if Ronin were real, he most definitely would try to ask him out. ‘Try’ being the operative word. 

If he flailed and drowned when trying to flirt with average guys, he could only imagine the garbage fire that would be him trying to flirt with someone as gorgeous and perfect as Ronin. 

“Ugh,” he said out loud, frustrated as his mind drifted back to the problem at hand during the silence in between songs. He really needed to enable the cross-fade function and save himself from his own mind. He would ask Tony later. 

He sighed heavily but let his mind continue down the new/old line of thought instead of trying to fight it. 

Why couldn’t he just toss Ronin out and start fresh? Or put him on a mental bookshelf and come back in a couple years? And in the meantime, create someone new? Out with the old, in with the new. It should have been that simple. 

It was one of Bruce’s favorite literary liberties as an author. Being able to do things that were difficult in real life or illegal. If you didn’t like someone in real life, you couldn’t just off them. It was so much more work but in storytelling, reality was his clay to mold and yet he still could not sculpt himself a new protagonist or bring himself to kill off the old one. 

There was also the fact that Bruce was fairly certain Clint would not even want a character based off of his likeness. Judging by his apparent aversion to journalists, Bruce couldn’t imagine him liking the idea of someone publishing his life for all to read. Even if it was a completely fictitious version. 

So Ronin had to go. There were no two ways about it. Bruce would have to figure something out and in the meantime he also had to figure out what to do about Betty. And Tony. 

He knew Tony was just going to keep on pushing him to go to the wedding but Tony didn’t know everything. He didn’t have all the facts and there were some parts of his breakup with Betty that he simply never wanted to hear said out loud ever again. 

“Shit!” Bruce gasped when he was touched, jerking back in his chair, his hands raised in a fighting position. He was so deep in his head and thoughts, enjoying the music, trying to work out a way to circumvent the wedding while also deleting Ronin from his mind, that he hadn’t even noticed someone come in, let alone get close enough to touch him. 

He sat up, snatching his headphones off. 

“What the fuck is your problem?” he hissed, jaw set, heart racing. He felt a wave of heat wash over him and he took a deep breath to rein in his temper. 

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you. I knocked. A few times. But your music was too loud.” Bruce just continued to glare at Clint. “Got a minute? Just to talk?” 

Bruce checked his watch. He had nowhere to go for the next two hours and nothing to do at least until Peter showed up so reluctantly he answered: “Yes. I have a minute.” 

Clint stepped back away from him, back to the door to put a decent amount of space between them. He leaned against the frame, his right hand toying with a piece thread hanging off his sleeve. 

“I came off as a complete jerk at the bar but I mean… you were watching me. For like a solid two and a half weeks.” When Bruce didn’t react, he continued, “I was already wound up that night and I lost it.” 

Bruce still didn’t say anything, only pursed his lips together and hummed, waiting for a point. 

“You got nothing to say to that?” 

“What do you want me to say? That I’m a creep? Alright, I’m a creep who sits in bars and takes notes about people. There I said it.” He paused, closed his eyes briefly and exhaled. When he opened them he said, “However, I am sorry I made you uncomfortable.” 

And he was. He had been thinking about that for a while too at the back of his mind. He understood why and how his actions would have made Clint uncomfortable. He understood why and how his reaction to Clint’s questions would have too. In all honesty, he’d forgiven Clint before he apologized a few days ago. He just didn’t like him. 

“That first part’s not exactly what I wanted to hear but, uh, thanks. Apology accepted.” Clint continued toying with his sleeve, looking around Bruce’s office with an indiscernible expression on his face. “I was out of line, by the way. With the creep comment. If Nat likes you, obviously you’re not a creep.” 

Bruce hummed but didn’t otherwise comment. What was he supposed to say to that? ‘Oh, gee, thanks for letting me know’?

He reached for his phone and paused the music, checking the time. Despite being sure that he had already spent an hour talking to Clint, only four minutes had passed. 

“So do you always do this for your books? Stalk people and rewrite their lives?” 

Bruce knew it was supposed to be a joke. He knew it was meant to be a light-hearted jab but he just did not like this man. “Sometimes.” He wanted to add ‘but never before for a protagonist’ but he didn’t want Clint to know he was going to be Bruce’s main character. 

Clint nodded slowly, something else on his mind that he wasn’t saying. The silence was uncomfortable. It was loud and thick. Bruce felt like he was suffocating in it so he spoke. 

“Anything else I can do for you?” 

“Uh,” Clint said and was he actually trying to think of something? What was this man’s deal? 

Clint scratched his head and then dropped his hand to his side defeatedly, shaking his head. 

“No. Actually,” Clint began, changing his mind and Bruce sighed quietly. “But… why me? Nat said you’ve been coming to the bar for years, you’re there a lot, why choose me?” 

“Hey, oh, uh, are you... busy, Professor Banner?” Peter asked, speaking before he had taken in the situation. He looked at Clint, tilted his head to the side like he was trying to figure out what was happening and then turned his wide brown eyes back on Bruce. 

“No, I’m not. Mr Barton was just leaving.” 

Clint’s mouth snapped closed like Bruce himself had closed it and he stood up straight. Bruce could see the anger in his face, a vein popping in his forehead and his jaw set. Clint ran his tongue over his teeth, turned, and left. 

Bruce stretched his arms out, trying to remove some of the tension in his body, and then gestured towards the empty chair in front of his desk. 

“So, let’s see this idea of yours.” 

+

Bruce couldn’t understand Clint’s actions and in all honesty he didn’t want to. He didn’t care. He just wanted Clint out of his life but now he seemed to have injected himself into every aspect of it. The bar, the university, and Bruce’s writing. Was nothing sacred? 

His list of ‘every aspect of his life’ had also just served to show Bruce that he needed more hobbies. 

“You’re sulking. Stop it. It ages you, Bruce. You look fifty. Fifty and sad,” Tony said, tossing an m&m into his mouth and putting down his phone. He turned to him, sighing heavily when Bruce remained quiet and broody. 

“He’s everywhere,” Bruce grumbled finally, just a tad melodramatic. 

Tony rolled his eyes and filled his mouth with more chocolates, chewing loudly before he said, “Then find new places where he isn’t.” 

“What?” Bruce asked, offended. “Why do I have to go? They’re my places! I’ve been in them longer!” 

“Okay, then fight for them and make him leave.” Bruce sunk even lower into the couch, his sulk intensifying. “You are nearly impossible to please, you know that?” 

“And you have a genius-level intellect. That’s all you can come up with? Fight or flight?” 

Tony snorted. “Well, does your genius-level intellect want to come up with something better then? Hmm?” 

If he could have, he would have. Clint hadn’t really bothered him since that day when Peter came to his office but it was just the thought of him being there on campus, lurking probably. The idea of him being able to come intrude on Bruce’s space. Something about that man really got under his skin and he wasn’t sure what and then of course there was still the issue of Bruce’s attraction to someone he could not stand. 

“I got nothing,” Bruce finally conceded, reaching over to steal a handful of m&ms from Tony’s bowl. 

Tony let out a quiet sigh and Bruce looked over but he refused to meet his eye, watching a tampon commercial with far too much interest. 

“What?”

“Huh?” 

“Tony.” 

“Well,” Tony began, running a hand through his hair, “have you considered—and hear me out—answering his question? I don’t know. Maybe that’ll give you both some closure.” 

Bruce breathed a mocking laugh. “Right, and tell him what? That I’ve never been more attracted to anyone in my life?”

Tony froze, m&m’s halfway to his mouth that never made it. He slowly lowered his hand, not caring that the chocolates were melting in his palm and making a mess. He took a moment and then cleared his throat before saying, “What?!” 

“What?” Bruce asked back, confused and shocked at Tony’s outburst and then it hit him. 

Oh for crying out loud, Banner. 

“You never told me you were attracted to him! That’s a big ass detail you shouldn’t really leave out.” 

“I didn’t tell you? I swear I told you,” Bruce said, trying for innocence but he knew Tony saw right through it. “Okay, so maybe I didn’t.” 

“Maybe? Wait, so is your aversion to him because you wanna bone him but he’s a jerk or is it really just because of the book?” 

“First of all—”

“Don’t even try, Banner.” 

Bruce closed his eyes and exhaled heavily, pressing the ring and middle fingers of his right hand into the space between his eyebrows and rubbing in small circles. “First of all,” he began again, calmly, raising his other hand to stop Tony from saying whatever was about to come tumbling out of his mouth. “I don’t want to bone him. Must you be so crude?” 

“It’s like you don’t even know me but it’s also like you think I don’t know you.” Bruce raised an eyebrow, letting Tony carry on. “As the closest person to you on this planet and also someone who has hooked up with you once before, albeit drunkenly, I know that you wanna bone him, Bruce.” 

Bruce couldn’t help the blush that crept up his cheeks. “Actually,” he said, his tone less argumentative now and more confessional, “I want him to bone me—” Tony squeaked because he’d never known Bruce was versatile! “—but it doesn’t matter because we are not even acquaintances.” 

Words tumbled out of Tony’s mouth of their own accord, making no sense until he finally said, “So! Oh, come on. Go have hot ‘I hate you’ sex with that near stranger.” 

Bruce laughed but shook his head. “You know I’m not a fan of one time things.” He’d done it before but really only when he was a little desperate for touch, for intimacy. He did prefer an established relationship. 

“And here I thought we were trying new things, hm? Remember that new drink you tried? Wasn’t that fun?” 

“The jump from a new cocktail to a one night stand with a guy I don’t even like and who also doesn’t like me is not small. Besides, why on earth would he be attracted to me?” 

“Because you’re smart, adorable, hot as fuck.” 

“How can I be both of those?” 

“Because you’re a teddy bear and a grizzly bear inhabiting the same body.” 

“And that’s… good?” 

“Yes, Bruce. Keep up. You’re practically a cliché fantasy—the hot college professor who’s shy in person but a freak in the sheets.” 

Bruce groaned, covering his face with his hands. “I love and hate that you know me so well.” 

“Anyway,” Tony said, pretending to be annoyed at the interruption and clapping a hand onto Bruce’s shoulder. “Go get your man.” 

“Tony,” Bruce sighed, his head lolling to the side to look at him. “This isn’t helping. Not even a little bit.” 

“Why? Because now you’re thinking about him pressing you up against a wall and making your knees go weak? Well, that’s better than you sulking because he was rude.” 

In all honesty, that was exactly what Bruce was thinking about and it only slightly freaked him out that Tony had guessed it right on the money. Bruce sunk further into the couch, pouting now because he realized Clint was invading yet another aspect of his life—his previously assumed non-existent love life. 

Bruce had been dipping in and out of inappropriate thoughts since he had first laid eyes on the man. He was a thing of beauty and there was no denying that no matter how much Bruce didn’t like the personality attached to the face. Even his voice was nice. 

But he was just someone Bruce could not have and he had to get him out of his head. 

“How’s Steve?” 

Tony narrowed his eyes. “Unfair.” 

“How so?” Bruce asked innocently, grinning. 

“Because I want to know more about your naughty fantasies of Mr Wrong but even when I’m not talking about Steve I wanna talk about Steve and now you’ve invited me to talk about Steve so I’m gonna but,” he said, finally taking a breath and sticking a finger in Bruce’s face, “we’re putting a bookmark in this because the plot is beginning to thicken.” 

Bruce rolled his eyes at the writing pun. 

“Thought you’d like that. Anyway, yesterday Steve…” Tony began, launching into a story from their lunch date. 

Bruce liked hearing about Steve. It made him beyond happy that Tony was in such high spirits lately and it was sweet to see them together. And Tony seemed to have a good effect on Steve too. Things were going well and Bruce hoped they would continue that way. Tony deserved it, Steve deserved it. They both deserved happiness. Hearing about Steve also helped take his mind off Clint. 

Or at least it would if he could just focus on the story at hand instead of thinking back to the way Clint’s golden hair had looked so incredibly soft even under the fluorescent lights of Bruce’s office, or the way his name had sounded coming out of Clint’s mouth. There was also Clint’s hands. Those hands Bruce was so fascinated by, he’d never seen hands so nice. 

They way they had looked while Clint fumbled with his shirt sleeve. All veiny and strong. 

Bruce even knew what those hands felt like. Or at least one of them. The one he’d shaken that night at the bar. It was rough and calloused and warm and Bruce wished they were running over his back, down his chest—

“I completely lost you, didn’t I? Where are you? Somewhere getting railed by the security guard?” 

Bruce’s face warmed and he let his head fall back in defeat as he admitted, “No, but I was probably heading there.” Bruce turned to him. “Sorry. I really did want to hear about Steve.” 

“Not offended but I will be going back to that bookmark now. So what’s the plan?” 

“Plan? There is no plan. I’ve been attracted to people before and gotten over it. This too shall pass,” Bruce quoted but Tony didn’t look convinced and Bruce didn’t feel convinced. 

And wasn’t that a first. 

Bruce could admit that he often found himself infatuated with people he observed. It was always fleeting and very rarely developed further. By profession, Bruce noticed the insignificant, the small things that contributed to who a person was. How they tucked their hair behind their ears; how they adjusted their glasses; how they interacted with people in the service industry. Bruce was one for detail and because of this, when he observed people, even in passing, he couldn’t help but pick up on so many things all at once. 

So Bruce was no stranger to the fleeting pseudo-love felt between two strangers making eye contact. He knew what it was like to feel something for someone he’d never spoken to just because he’d spent a while watching them and creating a life for them that was probably wildly incompatible with their actual life. 

Normally, he was so good about keeping the divide clear in his mind. He knew the personalities he created for random people he saw most likely were not the case in real life. So he knew his brief periods of infatuation weren’t for those people but rather the version of them he created. 

And he’d known that with Clint. In fact, it was what he had enjoyed so much about not knowing anything about Clint. He didn’t even have to think about the differences. 

Or maybe that was the problem. 

The other times he’d observed strangers, they had been minor characters; one line in the story, that’s it. But with Clint, he was the protagonist. He was the main man! And here Bruce had constructed an entire world around him and yes, he’d fallen for the character just like he hoped future readers would but he hadn’t planned on being stuck on the real man. Especially knowing that the real man did not like him one bit. 

Even now he was still thinking about Clint in the back of his mind. Helping him once again understand why an active and vivid imagination was also a curse, especially when paired with a socially inept person such as himself. 

“So… plan?” Tony repeated. 

Bruce sighed and said, “I’m working on it.” 

+

The problem was: it wasn’t going away. Nothing was passing and the only change going on was Bruce growing increasingly attracted to that honey-haired walking, talking distraction. 

Sometimes Bruce saw Clint across the quad talking to students or members of faculty or occasionally just sitting and enjoying the pleasant autumn weather, and in those moments, Bruce felt the strangest sort of… pull. Like someone tugging him towards Clint. He wasn’t even sure it had anything to do with his little fantasies or his insanely stupid attraction. It didn’t feel sexual but at the same time he wasn’t sure how to describe it. 

School was the only time he saw him. He never went to the bar on the days when he knew Clint would be there and Clint was never there on the days when he shouldn’t be. So, in a way, he had gotten his bar back but it didn’t feel like a victory. 

Clint or no Clint, Bruce’s life went on. He had classes to teach and essays to grade and Peter to help with his side project. He had things he could focus on to take his mind off Clint and they worked for the most part. 

Standing in front of all those students, talking at length about what he loved and how to do it not only distracted him but gave him more energy than any cup of coffee ever could. He was at home there in front of those attentive eyes, even despite his usual reserved and timid nature. As a teacher, he could put his social anxiety aside for the moment and do what he needed to do. 

Of course he was still awkward. Hilariously so. At times fumbling with slides, cracking jokes that rarely got him more than a few chuckles or smiles accompanied by shaking heads. The latter were his favorites because they reminded him of Tony’s response to his attempts at humor. 

He was packing up when three students came down the steps to where he was to talk to him. He looked up and gave Peter, MJ and Ned a warm smile, removing his glasses and sliding them into his shirt pocket. 

“What can I do for you three?” 

“Well, uh,” Peter began, “listen, Professor, this is a compliment even though it might not sound like it.” Bruce raised his eyebrows in eager anticipation of whatever was coming next. It was a very hard thing to guess when it came to these three. 

“You’re very awkward,” Ned said and Bruce laughed, clearing his throat immediately so he could be serious and listen. “And you make corny jokes and laugh at them yourself.” 

“But you’re also really passionate about what you teach and don’t seem to care what others think of you and that is cool as hell,” MJ finished. Bruce did care. He very much cared what others thought about him. His reaction to Clint calling him a creep was only exhibit A. 

But then again there was truth to what she was saying because in front of his students that need to be liked barely even registered. As long as they were getting from his teaching what they needed in order to succeed, he didn’t really care about his popularity. 

“What Ned and MJ are trying to say, is we really appreciate you being yourself. Gives us fellow weirdos the confidence to do it too,” Peter clarified. 

Bruce’s smile grew and he felt warm. What a happy, extra dose of dopamine in addition to an already successful lecture. “Thank you. I really appreciate that and no offense taken.” 

“See, told you he would like it,” MJ said, poking Peter in the side. 

Peter grabbed her hand and she smiled, both of them turning back to Bruce. “We’ve gotta get to study hall but see you Friday, Professor.” 

“I’ll see you then. Take care, the three of you.”

Feeling fulfilled, Bruce made his way back to his office, choosing once again to take the route that led him outside so he could enjoy the sun before winter came and the constant greyness set in. He did his best not to actively look for Clint and managed to make it all the way to his office without spotting him. 

He was writing up midterm questions when someone knocked and he hoped and prayed that it wasn’t Clint, completely surprised when he saw who it actually was. None other than Bucky Barnes, professor of history. 

More often than not, Bruce forgot that Sam’s husband worked at the same university and that they could very easily meet up or have lunch and it suddenly occurred to him that they never had and never did. He wondered if Bucky was offended by that. 

“Hey, Banner,” Bucky said, leaning against the door frame, a jacket slung over his arm. His hair was pulled back into a neat bun and Bruce wondered absently if Sam had done it for him or he had somehow figured out how to do it with one arm. 

“Hello, Barnes,” Bruce responded, surprised still, because in all the time he had known Sam and the others, he and Bucky had only ever interacted twice. Both times were outside the bar as Bruce and Sam were both leaving, standing outside talking while Sam waited for Bucky to come pick him up. He’d found out about Bucky working at the school through Sam, actually. 

Bruce leaned back in his chair, leaving his essays for the moment to give Bucky his attention. 

“You left this at the bar last night. Sam asked me to bring it over because he knows you don’t go on Tuesdays or Wednesdays,” Bucky said, laying the jacket across the chair in front of Bruce’s desk. It had been an unusually warm night last night. Bruce knew he had forgotten something! 

“Oh, thank you.” 

There was silence for a moment. Bucky just stayed there, looking around the office and Bruce would have paid actual money to know what he was thinking. Those two times he had met him, he had never quite understood how he and Sam fit together—still didn’t really. Sam was warm and the life of the party, the kind of guy you knew you could trust from your very first interaction with him. Bucky was… well, a little cold, hard to read, and very quiet. 

Everything Bruce knew about Bucky he knew because Sam talked about him or Steve. In fact, at this point, what with Tony dating Steve, Tony had probably had more conversations with Bucky than Bruce had in their nearly nine years of working at the same place. 

“Did you need anything else?” Bruce asked carefully. “Want to grab lunch?” 

“No,” Bucky said, his eyes falling to the essays and then moving back up to Bruce. “It’s nothing personal, you know? Why we don’t hang out on campus.” Bruce waited for an explanation that he hoped was coming. “Not a big fan of mixing work and personal life but you’re Sam’s friend so you’re more than welcome to come for dinner sometime.” 

“Oh. Uh. Thanks.” 

Bucky breathed a laugh. “I mean it. This is just my work face, I promise. Ask Sam. I just don’t like my department colleagues but if they see me with you, then they’ll start giving me a hard time about turning down their invites and yada yada yada. Besides, I’d rather take longer to get to know you than our hour lunch.” He smiled and it was warm, warmer than Bruce had ever seen directed anywhere but at Sam. 

Bruce smiled. “Alright, yeah, sure. I’ll talk to Sam on Thursday.” Bucky nodded and smiled, a silent ‘thank you’ to Bruce for understanding that Sam was the best one to communicate with. And Bruce was understanding more now about Bucky now. Bucky sucked at talking to people too. 

“Great. So… see ya,” Bucky said, tapping his hand on the door frame as he left. 

“Hey, Barnes! Hold on a sec,” Bruce called out, his mouth working faster than his overthinking could. 

At first, Bruce wasn’t sure Bucky was even going to come back and then his head popped around the door again. 

“Yeah?” 

“Do you know Clint?” 

Something changed in Bucky’s expression. There was some flicker of something in his eyes and the corner of his mouth turned up ever so slightly. “Yeah.” 

Bruce wasn’t sure why he had been expecting more than that answer. “How?” 

Bucky paused. He paused too long. He must have been deciding whether or not he wanted to answer. “Met him through Nat years ago. He’s a good guy. Rough what happened but it’s nice to have him back.” 

“Back?” Bruce asked before he could stop and wonder if that would seem too eager, too nosy. “Back from where? And what happened?” If he was going down the busybody route, he might as well get in all the answers he could. 

Bucky nodded, as if something Bruce said had answered a question Bucky had never voiced. “I’m not really into gossiping.” 

“You know he works here, right?” 

Bucky didn’t respond to that. At least not in any way that Bruce could identify. “Work and personal life, remember? Anyway, you should come for dinner some time.” 

He left before Bruce could say anything else. Not that Bruce would have, seeing as he was currently red in the face and feeling more than a little like a child after a scolding. Bucky might not have said much but he sure was good at aiming the words he did say. 

“Sam’s husband came by my office today,” Bruce said, pouring himself a glass of wine and then sitting down on the couch beside Tony. “Wine?” 

“In a minute,” Tony said, finishing off a text to Steve. He put down his phone and stood to pour himself a glass, finally digesting Bruce’s words. “Wait. Bucky? Bucky spoke?” 

Bruce snorted. “Yeah. He doesn’t with you?” 

“No, mostly glares and a few grunts. With him and Sam practically being Steve’s parents, I’ve had dinner with them a couple times. Don’t think he likes me.” 

“Well, he mentioned you today and there was very minimal glaring or grunting.” Although, to be fair, there wasn’t much of any emotion on Bucky’s face for the majority of their conversation. “He kept inviting me for dinner.” 

“Oh, well, great. That means he likes you. I’m about eighty percent sure I’ve won over Sam but Bucky is such a big fucking question mark and him having only one arm does nothing to assure me that he couldn’t kick my ass if given the chance.” 

“Tony,” Bruce chided. 

“What? It’s true. And if he had two I don’t even think I would’ve gone to dinner,” Tony said. 

“Well, he’s probably just very protective of Steve.” 

“Understatement. Wait, wait. Why was he at your office?” 

“I forgot my jacket at the bar. Sam gave it to him to give to me. I almost forgot he even worked there. We never see each other.” 

“Such a question mark,” Tony repeated, mumbling. 

“Said he doesn’t like mixing work and personal life,” Bruce explained, “but wanted to invite me for dinner sometime.” 

“Well, if it’s any consolation, he’s a mean cook. I haven’t had anything he’s made that I didn’t want to marry or at least smear on Steve and—”

“Alright,” Bruce interrupted, “I got the idea, thanks.” 

Tony chuckled and they fell into one of their usual silences. It was comfortable, easy. The tv was on in the background, reruns of Star Trek: The Original Series playing and Kirk had yet again ended up tearing his shirt. The guy could trip on nothing, catch himself, and still stand up with his chest exposed. 

Bruce sipped his wine, letting the flavor linger in his mouth before he swallowed it and finally, when he could bear it no more, he said, “I asked him about Clint.” 

“You asked who about him? Bucky? Why?” Tony asked, his brain taking a moment to get back up to speed and switch gears from his Amazon browsing. 

“Because Clint knows Steve and the others, which means he must know Barnes.” 

“I mean, sure. Correlation. So what’d he say?” 

“In no uncertain terms, he told me to mind my business,” Bruce told him and Tony let out a laugh. “But he did say it was good to have him back and that something happened to him that was ‘rough.’” 

“Black ops mission gone south. I totally called that weeks ago.” Bruce eyed Tony but chewed his lip, wondering. “He say anything else?” 

“Just that he’s a good guy.” 

“Coming from Bucky the dude could either be an absolute saint or a hair above serial killer. Finally, someone less helpful than me,” Tony said, looking at his phone again. “So what now?” 

“I don’t know,” Bruce said, trying not to sulk again because whenever he sulked, Tony called him out for it. “I don’t really wanna talk about Clint.” 

“Let the record reflect that you brought him up, not me.” 

“I know, I know. I just had to get that off my chest.” 

“Yeah, and now we can add it to the list of things we know about him. You know? He’s tall, kind of a jerk, a security guard, probably great in the sack…” Tony let himself trail off, his eyes sliding over to Bruce. Teasing him about his infatuation—because Bruce had developed a hatred for the word ‘crush’ over the last few days—was Tony’s current favorite hobby and Bruce would’ve snapped more or gotten angrier if a small part of him didn’t secretly like indulging it. 

A small part of him really liked the idea of him liking Clint. It liked the idea of them kissing, of Bruce having to go on tiptoes, maybe put his hands on Clint’s shoulders so he could keep himself balanced while they kissed. He liked the idea of Clint smiling at him. 

He’d seen it. Once. That first night when he’d come over and introduced himself. It hadn’t started bad, only ended that way. When he said his name, said he thought Bruce’s notes were cute at first, there had been a smile. It was lopsided and friendly. 

“Ugh,” Bruce said out loud in reaction to his thoughts. It made absolutely zero sense that he felt this way about a man with whom he barely had a positive interaction. 

That small part of him was a big part of why he worked so hard to avoid Clint at work. He knew the more he indulged it, the harder it would be to get over it. The harder it would be to get rid of Ronin when he was also wildly attracted to the man on whom he was based. 

“You gonna let me in on whatever train of thought is making your face do… that,” Tony said, his hand circling Bruce’s face. 

“The obvious one.” 

“Ah. Your fascination.” 

“Were you put on this earth to annoy me? It feels like you were put on this earth to annoy me.” 

Tony grinned. “No, I was put on this earth to annoy Rhodey. I’m here to help you, surprisingly enough, and boy oh boy do you need it.” 

“How so?” 

“Picture this, it’s freshman year of college. I, the hero of this story, meet you, the damsel in distress, and everything you have on screams ‘I was dipped in glue and thrown bodily at a flea market trash pile.’” 

Bruce chuckled because Tony really wasn’t far off from the truth. Bruce’s idea of fashion used to be ‘if it fits, it’s fine.’ He hadn’t grown up with much but that barely had any bearing on his style, he simply had no style. And he wasn’t entirely uncomfortable living like that but once Tony came into his life, that all changed very quickly. 

Tony wasn’t ashamed to be seen with him—it became very clear, very quickly that Tony Stark did what Tony Stark wanted and everyone who had a problem with that be damned—he just couldn’t bear to see Bruce in another pair of zip-off hiking pants and a tie-dye shirt with his own two eyes. 

“I guess you helped me in the fashion department.” 

Tony rolled his eyes at yet another understatement and carried on. “Picture this: it’s junior year and you’re stressed about exams and your part time job and forget to get a haircut a few times in a row and lo and behold! He’s got curls! Fabulous, chocolatey curls that he’s been hiding from the world behind a hideous military crew cut. Honestly, what were you even thinking?” 

“It was easy,” Bruce said with a shrug, grinning even wider now. “Hair products were so confusing and it just seemed so time-consuming.” 

“And yet you sit here and lie to my face. Asking me how so,” Tony imitated, mockingly. “I made you grow out those luscious locks, bought you some products and now look at you! You’re a walking hair kink.” 

“You have such a way with words.” 

“Anyway, it’s a major improvement and it’s all you with just a dash of me. So! Here goes sophomore year and what have we got here? The boy is bisexual! He wants to experiment. God, it took you long enough.” 

“Home life.” 

“Fair enough. I guess I just kept hoping every outrageous thing I announced at the dinner table would send dear old dad into cardiac arrest.” Bruce laughed out loud at that because he could relate he just hadn’t had the balls for it when he was living at home. “My point here is that, I got you, Bruce. If you wanna seduce Paul Blart, I’ll help you get there.” 

“And if I don’t want to?” 

Tony turned on the couch suddenly, sitting cross-legged, a wide smile on his face and excitement in his eyes. “I’m so glad you asked.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Well, what do we do now?” Bruce asked
> 
> “Right foot, left foot,” Tony said, his hand on Bruce’s elbow as he guided him across the bar over to Bucky and Clint.

“What are we doing here?” Bruce asked although he had long figured out why they were there and now he just wanted to talk because he felt awkward and out of place. 

Tony was leaning against the bar, scanning the crowd and Bruce was facing it, trying desperately to merge with it and disappear entirely. 

They weren’t at Nat’s bar but some bar in Hell’s Kitchen. A gay bar because Tony had a theory that the only way Bruce was going to get Clint out of his head was to sleep with someone who looked like Clint. It was shitty science—it  _ wasn’t _ science at all—but Tony was adamant and Bruce was finally won over because he wanted to get past Clint and  _ really _ wanted to end his dry season. It had been just a  _ bit _ too long. 

“Stop asking me that or I’ll hand out your number to hot randos.” 

“You wouldn’t dare.” 

“You’re right. Stakes are too high in this serial killer capital but that doesn’t mean I won’t find something equally awful but significantly less dangerous and you know it.” 

Bruce did. He sighed. 

“Why didn’t you bring Steve?” 

Tony laughed. “Wouldn’t have helped you. He agrees with me. You need to wet your whistle.” 

“Traitor.” 

Tony was chuckling, turning his head on a swivel as he looked for a prospective guy for Bruce. He lifted his drink to his lips and then promptly choked on it, hitting his chest to dislodge the liquid. 

“You okay?” 

“Yeah,” he coughed, putting the drink down and wiping his mouth and chin with a napkin. “But it looks like it’s a small world after all.” Tony pointed to the far other side of the room where the door was as Clint entered, Bucky beside him. 

They were chatting, not really looking around, but slowly making their way through the crowd towards the bar. Thankfully, they went to the other end of it. 

Bruce and Tony swapped positions. Tony’s back was to the crowd and Bruce’s back to the bar now. 

“Stop staring,” Bruce hissed, tugging on Tony’s sleeve. 

“Why are they here? And why just the two of them?” 

“Who cares! Can we go now?” 

“Nope, too invested. Need answers.” 

“I thought Barnes scared you?” 

“Curiosity killed the cat. Satisfaction brought it back. Come on. This is neutral territory. Maybe you two could start fresh too.” He grabbed Bruce’s arm and pulled but Bruce planted himself. “You know I’ll just go over on my own and you’ll never make it through that group of Chads by the door without me. Might wanna go ahead and cover your drink now if you’re thinking of making a break for it.” 

Bruce looked over at the door and sure enough, all he saw were backwards baseball caps, cheap beers, and polos with the collar popped. Damn the Chads. 

He risked a glance over at Clint and nearly passed out when he made eye contact with Bucky who had apparently been staring for quite a while. Bucky waved them over, much to everyone’s surprise, Clint’s included. 

Clint’s eyes followed Bucky’s line of sight and Bruce swore he went a shade paler. That wasn’t a good sign but Bruce also didn’t know exactly what kind of sign it was. Definitely bad but what  _ kind _ of bad?

“Well, what do we do now?” 

“Right foot, left foot,” Tony said, his hand on Bruce’s elbow as he guided him across the room over to Bucky and Clint. “Hey, fellas. What brings you to this fine establishment?” 

“Stark,” Bucky said with a nod and Bruce could almost feel the way Tony’s expression screamed  _ ‘told you he hates me. _ ’ “Banner. Is Steve here?” 

“No, it’s just us. But Steve knows I’m here if that’s the iss—”

“I wasn’t accusing you of anything, Tony.” Bucky's tone sounded offended but Bruce was still figuring out Bucky’s expressions and tones, so he could be wrong. 

Tony didn’t respond right away. Obviously Bucky made him nervous and Bruce felt like he had been transported into some strange world where Tony was actually intimidated by someone. 

“I’d invited him along tonight and he said he had to work. I was gonna give him a hard time for lying,” Bucky explained. “What brings you two here? Aren’t you usually at Nat’s?” 

“Change of scenery,” Bruce said quickly before Tony could open his mouth and say something embarrassing. “Just wanted to try out some new places. You?” 

“We come here often,” Bucky said, thanking the bartender when she set their drinks down. 

_ Often _ . They came to this bar often. Meaning the two of them. Meaning Bucky and Clint were much closer than Bucky had let on earlier in the week. It also meant that he likely told Clint that Bruce was asking about him. 

_ Great _ . 

“You drinking? Join us,” Bucky said. 

It hadn’t escaped Bruce’s notice that Clint had yet to say a single word. After mustering up as much strength as he could, he turned to look at him. Clint’s eyes were on the bar, his fingers toying with the napkin his drink was sitting on. 

Bruce exchanged a very quick glance with Tony who seemed just as confused and unsure but neither of them said no. Instead they leaned against the bar and ordered drinks for themselves. 

“I don’t think we’ve met yet,” Tony said and Bruce wanted to curse. He kept himself from glaring at Tony but only just barely. “Tony Stark, Steve’s boyfriend, Bruce’s best friend, and Bucky’s… I don’t know, maybe brother-in-law one day.” He extended his hand while Bucky and Bruce both tried to recover from the shock of the nonchalant way Tony dropped the idea of marrying Steve. 

Clint looked up and something in his expression broke Bruce’s heart a little. The downward tug of his mouth, the dark blue hue of his eyes—so different from that dazzling, electric color he so vividly remembered. His shoulders were hunched ever so slightly and he looked at Bucky before taking Tony’s hand and shaking it. 

“Clint Barton but you probably know that,” he said, bitterly, and Bucky nudged him very obviously. “Pleasure,” he added with a tone that made it clear that it was anything but. 

Bruce, panicking as his inability to cope with such intensely uncomfortable social settings kicked in, blurted out, “Well, it feels like maybe we’re interrupting your night. We’ll just have these and head out.” 

Tony opened his mouth to protest but Bruce shot him a glare so cold, Tony immediately closed his mouth again. 

“Nah, you’re good,” Bucky said with a level of casualness that just did not fit the situation. He lifted his drink to his lips—just four individual shots of vodka and really, that’s exactly what Bruce thought he would drink—and then looked over at Clint. “Actually, we’re celebrating.” 

“Celebrating what?” Tony asked, ignoring the holes being glared into the side of his head. 

“Clint just got a new job.” 

Bruce couldn’t explain it to anyone, not even himself, but that sentence hit him with a wave of disappointment so strong he had to look away. He felt his stomach sink and he dropped his gaze down to his drink, toying with a piece of mint sticking out of the top. 

“Security guard gig not all it’s cracked up to be?” Tony asked, adding, “Yes, I know what you do,” when Clint must have looked surprised. 

“I got a new job  _ offer _ . I haven’t accepted it,” Clint clarified, sending Bucky a strange look Bruce couldn’t decipher. Bruce noted the fact that he didn’t even tack on the word ‘yet.’ Maybe he would stay at the university. 

Bruce sighed at himself. He was in so deep and if only Clint knew he would probably think Bruce was a lunatic. 

“What’s the job?” Tony asked. 

“Private,” Clint said. 

“Security? Heard those pay really well and I—”

“No,  _ private _ as in none of your damn business,” Clint corrected in that same cold tone he’d used on Bruce that night at the bar. 

“Rude but fair. Alright then, shall we toast to you and your mysterious job offer Bruce and I aren’t allowed to know about?” Bruce wasn’t sure if he should be impressed or annoyed at Tony’s inability to be fazed, especially after the first few seconds of nervousness at Bucky’s presence. 

Bucky chuckled and Tony beamed at having made him laugh. He raised his glass. “To Clint’s mystery job.” 

It was one of the most awkward situations Bruce had ever found himself in and, like always, Tony was actually a few rungs above him on the comfortable scale. Tony and Bucky at least had some level of connection and Tony didn’t care what Clint thought of him. Bruce wasn’t sure why  _ he _ cared what Clint thought of him and when it came to Bucky he wouldn’t know how to start a conversation even if he wanted to. 

They chatted for a while, the conversation mostly supported by Tony and Bucky who would both gesture to their respective quiet friends and speak on their behalf since Clint and Bruce seemed to have both sworn a vow of silence after the toast. Well, silence until Bucky had had enough and addressed Bruce directly. 

“How’s your latest book coming along? Sam told me the other night that you’re working on a third one,” Bucky asked, downing what must have been his sixth shot of vodka and not looking even the slightest bit affected. 

Bruce’s temper flared up quickly because he knew Bucky must have at least an idea of the situation surrounding that topic and he wondered what the motive was for bringing it up. 

Bruce ground his jaw and then exhaled slowly before he answered. “It’s on hold right now. Ran into some road blocks.” That seemed informative yet vague enough. 

“Like what? I mean, those first two books you seemed to publish almost back to back. No inspiration to be found?” 

_ Damn you, Bucky Barnes. I thought you didn’t speak.  _

That time even Tony sucked in a sharp, quiet breath and Bruce again took his time to compose himself before he said, “Nope.” 

“Well, that’s a damn shame. I hope you can get back into your groove soon. Really liked the other two. So did he,” Bucky said, indicating to Clint with his empty shot glass and Clint’s cheeks were just slightly pinker than they had been a second ago. 

Bruce turned to Clint for the first time in at least an hour and he met those beautiful blue eyes attached to that equally stunning face. Clint wasn’t even handsome in the GQ model sort of way, none of those sharp angles or overly pretty attributes that made you wonder if he was even real. 

He was just so damn… simple. But in the best way possible. Clint’s face reminded Bruce of the difference between an eighty-dollar gourmet burger with foie gras and some fancy aioli concoction versus a burger from a backyard cookout. Both were delicious in their own ways but the simplicity of the latter would always amaze Bruce and he would always crave it over the more extravagant version.

If there was anything that Bruce truly loved and embraced about being a writer it was finding the beauty in the mundane. Clint wasn’t  _ mundane _ , per se, but his specific brand of handsome was so uncomplicated, so easy on the eyes and downright delightful, that something about it relaxed Bruce, even despite the situation that existed between them. 

Bruce almost forgot what he wanted to ask, so lost in Clint’s calming face and he didn’t even dare look at his hands. He knew he’d be beyond hope if he started thinking about those hands. “You read my books?” 

“Uh, yeah. When they first came out,” he admitted and Bruce’s heart skipped a beat. What the hell was he supposed to do with the information that that little fact—Clint having read his books—made his heart respond that way? Maybe it was the fact that he hadn’t rushed to read them after realizing Bruce was the author, but he had stumbled across it on his own. Something about it had been interesting enough to catch his eye and make him pick it up and read it. And then he had enjoyed it enough to read the second one. 

Why hadn’t he mentioned that before? 

“Did you like them?” 

Clint paused, seeming torn, and then he finally said, “Yeah. A lot. Especially the first one.” 

Bruce felt a wave of relief wash over him and then as quickly as it came it was replaced with pride. Not only had Clint enjoyed his books but he liked the  _ first _ one the best. The one about  _ Bruce _ . 

“I’m glad to hear that,” Bruce said and he smiled at him. He realized, because he was always hyper-aware of his own behavior, that that was probably the first time he had ever smiled at Clint. 

And Clint returned it. It was smaller, a little hesitant, but there on his plush pink lips. 

“Why don’t we move to a booth?” Bucky suggested suddenly, already standing and Tony followed his lead, talking to him as they headed over. 

Bruce and Clint hesitated but then got up from the bar to follow Bucky over to an empty corner booth. 

Bucky motioned for Clint to slide in first and Tony did the same for Bruce, claiming to want to talk to Bucky. That put Bruce and Clint directly across from each other which was a big change from their previous set up with Tony and Bucky between them. 

Clint’s legs were long and when Bruce slid in and got comfortable, he immediately tangled their legs together, trying to remedy the situation so quickly that he knocked his knee against the table stand and let out a soft yelp, his knee cap throbbing. 

If this evening didn’t kill Bruce, he was going to kill Tony for subjecting him to it. 

Bucky downed his last shot and stood. What now? They had only just sat down. “I’m gonna get more drinks. Drinks, guys? Tony, wanna help me?” 

Tony looked confused but then something clicked—something Bruce didn’t understand—and he stood, gathering Bruce and Clint’s empty glasses to take up to the counter as he followed Bucky, leaving Bruce and Clint alone. 

Bruce was  _ definitely _ going to kill Tony.  __

The tension could be cut with a knife. 

Bruce inhaled sharply, staring intently at his hands that were clasped together on the table top. Clint didn’t make a single sound, he just stared at the laminated menu on the table. 

The silence between them dragged on. The bar itself was noisy and a little chaotic but somehow around their booth there seemed to be a noise-cancelling bubble that left Bruce and Clint with nothing but the heavy, viscous air between them and the sound of Bruce’s heart pounding in his ears. 

When Bruce finally looked up, Clint was looking right at him and the words he was about to say died in his throat, never seeing the light of day. Those eyes were going to be the death of him. They had absolutely no business being such a rich shade of blue.

“Hi,” Clint began. His gaze fell away from Bruce’s and as much as his eyes sent Bruce’s brain into standby mode, he felt the loss of visual contact like a punch to the gut. What the  _ fuck _ was going on with him? 

“Hi,” Bruce replied, not sure where Clint was intending to head with this but deciding to play along. It seemed harmless. 

“Sorry for barging in on you in your office. And scaring you.” 

Bruce opened his mouth to say he wasn’t scared but that was just him being prideful. It had scared him. “It’s alright.” He swallowed and then said, “I’m glad you came by actually.” 

“Glad? Why?” 

“We got to apologize to each other. Properly.” Bruce knew the likelihood of him seeking out Clint in order to apologize was very, very low. Not because he didn’t want to but because he was afraid of making it worse. It almost felt like that was his superpower sometimes. 

“Oh,” Clint said, surprised, “yeah.” There was another small smile on his lips. Bruce could get used to seeing that instead of the hard, angry line he’d seen there the first two times they had spoken. “Just… going back to that night. At the bar. I really did just wanna say hi at first but—” He cut himself off, looked away. He wrung his hands together atop the table, visibly uncomfortable, and Bruce was confused. He wondered if this related to what Bucky had said. ‘ _ Rough what happened’ _ had been his exact words. “I just… yeah. That’s not me. Sucks that that was your first impression of me.” 

There were a million and one things that Bruce wanted to say, to ask—why  _ did _ you react that way? Why did you think I was a reporter? Why were you so upset to be a character if you know who I am and like my books?—but all he did say was: “It’s alright. Your first impression of me wasn’t the best either.” 

“So, really? It’s fine?”

“I mean it. It happened, it’s done, we move on,” Bruce said because that was the truth. He knew from Bucky that something must be going on in Clint’s life, something bad. Bruce could empathize with bad decisions and harsh reactions as a by-product of a difficult situation. Hell, Bruce could empathize solely with bad decisions in general with no underlying cause. He certainly wasn’t  _ angry _ about either of those run-ins with Clint anymore. He just wanted to understand. 

“Alright,” Clint said after a moment. “Then in the interest of moving on, you think we could start over?” 

“What?” Bruce asked. Start over? Did Clint actually  _ want _ to be Bruce’s  _ friend _ ? Or maybe he meant start over as strangers? Was that a thing?

“Well, you know, we’ve got a buncha mutual friends. Only seems right to try and be friends ourselves.” 

Oh, so  _ friends _ . 

“Sure,” Bruce said, tentatively, not entirely certain where the word had come from but it seemed like a good choice. Hopefully it got across the fact that he was hesitant but not resentful. 

“You don’t sound sure,” Clint observed. 

“I’m not good with people,” Bruce admitted and he had no idea why he felt the need to tell Clint something so honest but it just sort of tumbled out. Not like he should be surprised by that admission though. 

Clint laughed. “Right because I definitely seem like a people-person.” 

Bruce wasn’t sure there was a correct and non-weird way to say ‘I’ve watched you for weeks, people love you,’ so he settled on self-deprecating. “Believe me. Whatever you’ve got going on, I’m sure it can’t be worse than me.” He forced out a laugh. 

Clint, thankfully, didn’t comment on that and instead said, “You’re a professor. Seems like most people-person job out there.” 

Bruce snorted. “You’ve obviously never been to college.” 

“I haven’t,” Clint said with a smile.

“Oh my god, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—” 

This time Clint waved the apology away. “It’s all good. Obviously that’s not what you meant.” 

“No, it’s really not. I just meant that professors like Bucky also exist.” Bruce bit his tongue. What if he had just offended Clint anyway? Bucky was his friend after all. Would they have to start all over at square one again in a few weeks? 

That startled a laugh out of Clint and it was a really pleasant sound. Bruce watched the way the smile pulled at his lips, forming a wide, toothy grin that put his laugh lines on display. 

Bruce had seen Clint laugh plenty of times with other patron’s at Nat’s bar but it was a-whole-nother ball game seeing it up close. It was bright and contagious and Bruce found himself smiling along with him. 

“He’s one of my closest friends but I would definitely not want him as my professor.” 

“According to faculty lounge gossip, half the staff and student body have a crush on him and the other half are terrified,” Bruce told him. Bruce wasn’t really one for gossiping either but that didn’t mean he didn’t have ears. 

“Sounds about right.”

“Speaking of Bucky, you think him and Tony are ever going to come back?” 

“Well,” Clint said, looking over at where the two of them were leaning against the bar chatting with the bartender, “I kind of feel like whatever plan they had has worked. We talked, didn’t we?” 

“I’m glad you put that together too and it’s not just me being paranoid,” Bruce said with a laugh. 

“Nope, this was definitely a set up. I just wonder how long they’ve been planning it.” 

That hadn’t even occurred to Bruce yet. He’d only gotten as far as realizing this  _ was _ the plan not that it had perhaps been in the works for a while. He would ask Tony later since he no longer planned on killing him, maybe just some light harassment. 

Bruce turned to look at Clint and was once again met with eyes already focused on him. Somehow, he wasn’t sure how, but now that the air between them was clear and they were on a path towards friendship, Clint was even more handsome. Was that possible? Apparently so. Was it fair? Absolutely not. 

“Clint—” Bruce began only to be interrupted by the sudden return of Tony and Bucky, Tony already talking to Bruce. 

“Hey, Banner, as much as I love a good night out, I have a coffee date before work tomorrow that I wanna look good for so I need my beauty rest. You heading out or gonna get a ride from someone?” Tony asked, his eyebrow raised suggestively and his double meaning clear to everyone at the table. 

Bruce managed to blush and glare all at once and Bucky laughed. “I might call it a night too. I have a few essays to grade before tomorrow’s class.” 

“Great. I already settled our tab,” Tony said, pulling on his jacket. “Barnes, as always, a pleasure.” 

“See you Sunday, Tony,” Bucky said with a smile as he tipped back another shot. 

“Barton, nice to meet you. Hope to see more of you in the future,” Tony told him and Clint simply nodded to him. 

“See you tomorrow probably, Bucky,” Bruce said, a small smile on his lips. “I’ll pretend not to know you.” 

“Attaboy.” 

“And I guess I’ll probably see you tomorrow too if you’re still working there,” Bruce said to Clint who gave him yet another smile and was it more than he had given Tony? Yes? Was Bruce going to obsess over and dissect that the entire way home? Also yes. 

“Yeah, I’ll be there tomorrow. See you around, Bruce.” 

“So,” Tony began once they were almost a block away from the bar, “that seemed to go well.” Bruce turned and punched Tony square in the arm and Tony let out a pained yelp, rubbing his arm. “What was that for?” 

“You and Bucky planned that, didn’t you?” 

“What answer  _ doesn’t  _ get me hit again?” Bruce balled up his fist and set it to hit Tony in the same place again. “Stop it, Mayweather. Okay, yes, we planned it—on the fly, might I add—but are you actually upset that we did? Looked good from our perspective.” 

Bruce was quiet. “It did go well.” 

“I’m gonna get you a new nameplate for your desk. ‘Professor of Understatements.’”

“It’s not an understatement, it  _ did _ go well. What do you want from me?” 

“I  _ want _ you to admit that you were undressing that man with your eyes and that you know he was doing the same.” 

Bruce chuckled and then it turned into a full on laugh and he had to steady himself with a hand on Tony’s shoulder. He wiped his eyes and turned to Tony who looked beyond unimpressed. “ _ Right _ . Wow, how many drinks did you have?” 

“Your self-esteem is scarily low, my friend. You are a sexy man and Clint Barton is into you. Accept it.” 

“Clint Barton is a six foot, ocean-eyed, thirty on a scale of ten and I am wearing old, dusty converse.” 

“If it helps, I told you not to wear those.” Tony sighed and they continued walking. “Okay, fine.” 

“Fine, what?” 

“Let’s make a little wager.” 

“...sure,” Bruce said, skeptical but always down to make bets with Tony. His success rate was usually very good. 

“If Barton comes to find you tomorrow— doesn’t matter if it’s your office, your lecture hall or just walking around sniffing the trees or whatever you do when you’re not lecturing,” he said, making Bruce huff out a quiet laugh, “then you have to talk to him again about having him in your book.” 

Bruce swallowed hard. That’s not where he thought Tony was going to end that sentence. He had been putting the book off for a while, using every excuse he could think of—really busy with grading, class planning, extra help, etc—and hadn’t had a new idea for a new protagonist in weeks. 

But he also didn’t think Clint was going to come looking for him. 

“Okay. And if he doesn’t?” 

“If he doesn’t, I’ll completely drop the subject of him, stop teasing you about your Barton-based wet dreams, and help you figure out your next book. Not that I’m not already doing that last one.”

“You are,” Bruce assured him when he caught onto the unsure note in Tony’s voice. “Alright. Deal.” He stuck out his hand and Tony shook it. 

  
  


+

_ Well, shit.  _

“What happened, Professor?” Peter asked and Bruce’s head snapped up. 

“What?” 

“You said ‘well, shit.’ Are my edits that bad?” 

“I… I didn’t mean to say that out loud. No, the edits are great. Your dialogue has really come a long way, much more realistic now,” Bruce commended him, still slightly distracted, looking up at the little window in his office door where Clint was peeking in. 

Peter turned too and then waved. “You have another appointment?” he asked, turning back to Bruce. 

“Uh, no. This is unexpected. Though could we end this for today? If you want to leave me with this copy, I’ll email you the rest of my notes this evening,” Bruce offered and Peter put the manuscript down on Bruce’s desk. 

“Um.” There was a pause. “Sure.” He slid it towards Bruce. 

Bruce grabbed it and immediately tucked it away into his bag. “I promise it’s safe with me. My eyes only.” 

Peter’s smile was small but he looked more confident in his decision. “Okay. Thanks again, professor.” 

“No problem, Peter. And don’t forget about your analysis due on Monday.” 

Peter laughed. “How could I forget?” He stood and opened the door, looking back at Bruce who assured him it was alright to leave the door open and let Clint in. 

Clint stood in the doorway, his hands in his pockets. “I, uh,” he began, and Bruce couldn’t find it in him to be mad at Clint for making him lose his wager. Though Bruce wouldn’t be honoring his end of the deal until  _ after _ he had told Tony. 

And actually, Clint coming to find him was giving him  _ butterflies _ . Bruce tensed his stomach, trying to subdue the ticklish fluttering. He leaned forward on his desk, his hands tucked under his elbows. 

“Want to sit?” 

Clint eyed the chair, took a half step forward but then decided against it, staying where he was. “No, I just wanted to ask if you were busy. Right now. But that seems stupid. Did I run the kid out?” 

“No, it’s fine. He’s getting my advice on a side project and he’s got homework anyway. If anything, you saved us both from losing track of time.” Bruce gave Clint a small smile. 

Clint indicated with his chin towards the hallway. “He trying to be a writer?” 

“He’s past trying. He’s better than I was at his age, that’s for sure,” Bruce told him. “He just needs a few pointers here and there.” 

“And you’re helping him with that. All for free.” 

Bruce opened his mouth to answer but closed it again, furrowing his brow. Clint’s words sounded like a statement but there was a large amount of disbelief in there as well. 

“I, uh, yeah. I am. The writing lab here is good, I’ve been down there myself to check it out, but they’ve got a very cookie-cutter advice style that I don’t think would suit him. Peter’s style is so very unique and I don’t want him to lose any of that. His perspective is so refreshingly different yet relatable. He’s a funny kid. I—” Bruce cut himself off when he met Clint’s gaze again. It was focused on him, that same soft smile on his lips, and Bruce wasn’t sure what emotion he was seeing but he wrapped up his thought just in case it was polite boredom. “So, I… yeah, I’m helping,” Bruce said. 

“That’s really nice of you,” Clint told him. 

“Thank you.” 

“So, are you busy now? Or free until your next lecture?” 

“I’m free.” Bruce did not know where this was coming from but he also did not want to fight it, which honestly surprised him a little. Up until yesterday he and Clint were basically slightly-hostile strangers and now here he was offering up his free time to him without even knowing what for. That would have caught Bruce’s attention even if it was a close friend so why did he feel so comfortable doing that with Clint? 

“Would you want to grab lunch? With me?” 

Butterflies. Bruce had more mother-fudging butterflies in his mother-fudging stomach. This was getting out of hand. This was starting to progress past a crush and if he didn’t do something to squash it here and now— 

“Yes, I would.” He wasn’t even sure who said those words. He knew it was his mouth and his voice but he could not remember his brain telling his mouth to say them. 

_ Well, so much for squashing it, Banner.  _

“It’s nothing fancy,” Clint began, leading them towards the south side of campus, and Bruce snorted. 

“I would be happy with a couple of empanadas from Josue’s food truck.” He jerked his head towards where the truck was parked, a long line of students and faculty alike waiting for their culinary delights. 

“Would you rather...?” 

“Huh? Oh, no, I just meant I wasn’t expecting anything fancy.” It occurred to Bruce that even the fact that Clint would tack on that disclaimer meant he wanted Bruce to be happy with whatever they were going to eat. It  _ mattered _ to him that Bruce liked it. 

It also occurred to Bruce that their whole interchange sounded suspiciously close to a lunch date. If Bruce lingered on that thought any longer, he might lose all inhibition and try to kiss him. That  _ small part  _ of him that indulged his feelings towards Clint had been growing stronger lately and if last night’s actions meant anything… then he was  _ very _ ,  _ very _ attracted to this man. 

He swallowed, feeling the heat on his face as he remembered his hands on himself in the shower with nothing but Clint on his mind. He’d let himself indulge in a fantasy here and there since this had all started but he had done his best not to have Clint on his mind if pleasuring himself was the plan for the evening. 

Something about that just felt so final to Bruce. It was so incompatible with his attempts to get over Clint, to ride out this attraction as passively as possible and then move on with his life. 

If Bruce jerked off while thinking about Clint then to him that meant he was giving in, he was saying that what he felt for Clint was fine and he was no longer trying to get over it. He was fully committed to the experience and was planning instead to see where it  _ could _ go instead of hoping it would go  _ away. _

He sighed. His thoughts and his feelings were all in conflict with one another. He liked Clint but he didn’t want to like him. He wanted Clint but he didn’t want to want him. He wanted to see where this could go but he was also terrified of the rejection he felt was guaranteed for him. 

Most of the argument against it was because he knew, no matter what Tony said, that Clint did not, would not, and could not possibly want him back. They were aesthetically mismatched. If anything, it would be pity sex because Clint wouldn’t want to ruin their new friendship and that was not something Bruce was interested in  _ at all _ . 

“It’s just up here,” Clint said, pulling Bruce out of some particularly self-disparaging and personal thoughts and oh how grateful for it Bruce was, although still slightly ashamed at having finally given in last night. What  _ did _ that mean now? 

He shook his head lightly to clear the thought, as if his brain were an etch-a-sketch and now he had a clean slate for new thoughts. He wished it worked that way. Instead he knew that this debate would eat at him until he gave it a satisfying answer. He pushed it as far back into his mind as he could and tried to focus on the here and now because right then and right now he was walking beside the most handsome man he had ever seen to go have lunch. 

A friend lunch.  _ Platonic _ lunch. Plunch. 

Clint led them a block off campus and then they turned left onto a quiet street lined with trees. “A student told me about this place. Been coming here ever since.” 

Bruce had never been on that street. In all his years teaching at the university, he rarely spent lunch off-campus with the exception of impromptu visits from Tony but those usually ended up at some place of Tony’s choice or Josue’s truck. 

Clint couldn’t have been working at the university long. Bruce would have  _ definitely _ noticed him if that were the case, no matter how much in his own head he could get. The students must like him if they not only talked to him but gave him food recommendations. 

When Clint stopped, Bruce looked up at the name.  _ Miss Favela.  _

“Brazilian food?” Bruce asked. 

“Mmhmm. Some of the best I’ve ever had but then again it’s also the only Brazilian food I’ve ever had,” Clint said, looking down at Bruce with a grin and Bruce’s pulse raced momentarily. “Sound good?” 

“It’s one of my favorites.” 

“Yikes, now there’s pressure. Well, I hope it’s as good to you as it is to me,” Clint said, opening the door and it took Bruce way too long to realize Clint was holding the door open for him. 

A part of Bruce knew that he shouldn’t be accepting this complete one-eighty so easily. A voice in his head kept screaming for him to be careful and to think with his head and not his heart and most certainly not his dick. However, the other voice in Bruce’s head was so much louder and all it kept saying was  _ finally _ and something about that was equal parts a relief and a worry. 

He went inside anyway, Clint right behind him. Clint waved to a small woman standing behind the counter speaking to the boy at the register. Her face lit up when she saw Clint and she came over to greet him. 

He bent low so she could grab his face and kiss either cheek, her smile so warm. 

“Marcia, this is my friend Bruce. He teaches at the university,” Clint said, gesturing to Bruce. 

Friend. So they were friends already. That was a nice thought. 

“Hello, pleasure to meet you,” Bruce said, extending his hand but she slapped it away and pulled him in for a noticeably less tight hug but a hug nonetheless. Bruce tensed initially, wishing he had had more warning, but then he made himself relax. 

“Any friend of Clint’s is a friend of mine. Come in, I saved your table for you,” she said, her accent thick and it only added to her instant likability. She led them to a booth by the window and put down two menus from the table opposite. “Lemonade for you and for you, Bruce?” 

“Um,” Bruce said, nervous because he was unfamiliar with the menu and didn’t want to make the wrong choice but he also didn’t want her to sit there while he meticulously studied the drink options until he found one that he liked. He took a breath, determined not to let his social anxiety get the best of him. 

“You should try the lemonade, it’s great. If you don’t like it, I’ll drink it and you can order something else,” Clint jumped in and Bruce wasn’t sure if he had picked up on the internal struggle going on or just had great timing. 

“Okay. I’ll have the lemonade too.” 

_ Was _ it a date? It felt like a date. 

Bruce and Clint were quiet while they looked over the menus although Bruce was about twenty-eight percent sure Clint kept stealing glances. Or maybe there was something interesting on the wall behind him. Or maybe Bruce had something on his face. Or in his hair. There was simply no way in hell Tony was right. Clint was not into Bruce and even the  _ finally _ part of Bruce’s mind wouldn’t accept  _ that _ as truth. It was just happy to be spending time with this handsome man in a non-volatile capacity. 

Clint put the menu down and looked out the window, watching people pass. Bruce had forgotten about him just a little bit as he gave the menu an honest look. There were so many comfort foods, so many snacks he had missed from Brazil but never taken the time to track down in New York. 

“So,” Marcia said, having returned with their drinks, “have you two decided on your lunch?” 

“I’ll have my chicken things,” Clint said with an adorably shy grin, “and the cheese pastries.” 

Marcia smiled. “One day,  _ meu querido _ , you’ll be able to pronounce everything.” She patted his shoulder and turned to Bruce who was halfway through his lemonade. 

“This is delicious,” he said before anything else and Marcia and Clint both chuckled. “You didn’t tell me it was  _ limonada suíça _ .” 

“I would have if I knew that was an important detail,” Clint said. “Guess I won’t be getting yours.” 

“Not on your life, pal,” Bruce said, looking up at Marcia now who was staring down at him curiously. “I’ll have the  _ acarajé _ and  _ camarão no leite de coco _ .” 

Marcia raised an eyebrow and put her hands on her hips, turning to Clint. 

“What?” Clint asked, looking back and forth between the two of them. 

“You didn’t want to tell me that your friend speaks Portuguese.” She turned to Bruce before Clint had the chance to answer and said, in Portugese, “ _ Tu fala português _ ?” 

“ _ Sim _ ,” Bruce said, with a small smile and Marcia’s face lit up. 

“ _ Que bom _ !” She reached for his hand and Bruce lifted it up for her to grab and squeeze. She and Bruce exchanged a few more words—where she was from ( _ Brasília _ ) and where Bruce had visited (many places but had spent most of his time in  _ São Paulo)— _ and then she headed off to the kitchen. 

Bruce watched her disappear behind the swinging door, a smile on his face. Speaking Portugese always put him in a good mood, it reminded him of his years in Brazil. The only reason he’d moved back was because he missed his friends and the university had offered him a job. Otherwise, he liked to think he’d still be there, teaching kids English, helping out with environmental clean-ups and just being a part of a community. 

“So,” Clint began, pulling Bruce out of his reminiscing. “You gonna tell me why you speak Portugese or do I have to guess?  _ Are _ you Brazilian?” 

“No,” Bruce said with a soft laugh, “half-Mexican though on my mom’s side. I lived in Brazil for a few years. Taught English.” 

“No kidding,” Clint said, his laugh a little more deprecating than amused and Bruce didn’t understand the reason. 

Clint looked away, out the window, and Bruce’s anxiety was finally starting to get its fifteen minutes of fame instead of being suppressed by his interest in Clint. Had he said something wrong? Should he go? Maybe this was a bad idea. It was  _ really _ soon. 

“I—” Bruce started only to be interrupted by the arrival of the  _ pão de quiejo _ , rice, and Clint’s  _ coxinha _ . 

Bruce sat quietly, feeling awkward and Clint looked up, his expression confused. “Want some?” he offered, pushing the basket of bread towards Bruce. 

“That’s alright. I’ll wait on mine. Thanks.” 

Clint frowned and looked down at his food, taking a bite and the sound that he made should have definitely been illegal. “Aw, man. So good, every time.” He looked up at Bruce and smiled. “So, tell me more about Brazil.” 

“Sure,” Bruce said, “but I have a question first.” He saw Clint visibly tense and then relax. What was that Tony kept calling Bucky? A question mark? Yeah, Clint was one too. 

“Shoot,” he said. 

“Why did you invite me for lunch?” 

Clint paused for a full thirty seconds and Bruce had no idea what to think. Should he not have asked that? Was it a taboo question? Did Clint not  _ know _ the answer? 

“It was too soon, wasn’t it?” he finally said, throwing Bruce off but not too far because he had thought the exact same thing when he’d first shown up at his office. 

“It certainly came as a surprise,” Bruce decided on, figuring that was a neutral enough response. “I just don’t understand and I’m trying to.” 

“Well, you know, I, uh… I thought we were trying the friend thing. I didn’t mean to push,” Clint said and Bruce wanted to jump in and assure him that he didn’t need to apologize but Clint kept talking. “Sometimes I don’t think. I’ve been told I can be impulsive and—”

Clint’s sentence cut off abruptly and his mouth closed slowly, his gaze dropping to the table and he stared at one spot and didn’t lift his eyes. After a moment, Bruce reached over and gently touched his hand, removing it quickly. 

Clint looked up, seemingly confused. Marcia brought over Bruce’s food, patting his shoulder as she went and Bruce did his best not to instinctively move away from the touch but he still did and he knew Clint saw but he didn’t say anything.

“And?” 

“What?” Clint asked. Had Bruce missed something? 

“You were saying you can be impulsive and then you just kind of shut down.” 

“Oh,” Clint said, a blush crawling up his neck and if Bruce wasn’t caught between being worried and being almost painfully curious, he might have imagined what kissing that warm skin felt like, burying his nose in the space between his shoulder and neck. But thankfully, he didn’t think about that. Too much. “Yeah, anyway, I just mean that I’ll completely understand if this was too much too soon. I’ll cover the meal. You’re welcome to leave. I won’t be offended.” 

Hm. That was odd. He’d make a mental note to look into that. 

“No, I’m not trying to leave,” Bruce said, confident about that so he let the words flow, not sensing any danger in what he wanted to say, no risk of giving himself up or how he felt about Clint. “Besides, I haven’t had authentic  _ acarajé _ since I moved back and by the smell of it, it’s gonna be good.”

Clint gave him a small, sad smile that caught Bruce by surprise and made him want to hug him, console him. 

“Then why did you ask why I invited you here?” 

Bruce sighed, looking down at his lemonade. “I told you I’m not good with people, so I like to know where I stand with them.”

Clint nodded, humming softly. “Aha. Yeah, I can understand that.” He took a few bites and then said, “Well, with me we’re friends, so tell me about Brazil. What made you go there?” 

Bruce was not accustomed to people wanting to know more about him. His circle was small and his circle knew him. Tony was no longer at a point where he needed to ask Bruce anything, he just knew the answer. Natasha knew most and could guess the rest and ninety percent of the time she guessed right. Even Sam and Steve knew Bruce fairly well, though Sam’s other half was less well-versed in Banner history. 

It had been such a long time since anyone had wanted to know anything about Bruce’s life, and they  _ weren’t _ interviewing him because of his books, that he was nervous. He wasn’t even sure what for! It’s not like he could get his own life wrong and even if he did, how the hell was Clint supposed to know? 

“I was fresh out of university, didn’t even know what to do with my degrees,” he said, genuinely not trying to show off with the fact that he had multiple, it just came out in the plural. He was so used to answering these kinds of questions in interviews—because Mark, his first character had spent a portion of the book in Brazil—that his agent had encouraged a little boasting here and there to give his books more appeal for academics. “Tony was doing things with his own life—dating a woman and they were moving in together—so I figured I needed to do  _ my  _ own thing too.” 

He glanced up to see if Clint was even listening only to find those sharp eyes trained on him with a kind of intensity that made him simultaneously feel seen and watched. He cleared his throat and carried on, dropping his gaze to his food again. 

“I’d always liked teaching. Did a lot of volunteer work in disadvantaged communities while doing my schooling. I liked that a lot but I wanted to go somewhere new.” He took a sip of his lemonade to give himself a moment to collect his thoughts. Clint’s quiet attention was flattering but also a little flustering. 

“I have cousins who’d moved to Brazil so I reached out to see if I could crash until I found my own place and got used to my surroundings. Ended up finding my own apartment within a month, I had a job going over—I’d signed up to teach English at an elementary school. I speak Spanish but my Portugese was severely lacking. Turns out, I taught the kids English and they taught  _ me _ Portugese.” He smiled, remembering all the faces of which he’d grown so fond. 

“How long were you there for?” Clint asked, his first word in a solid five minutes. 

“Four years. I stayed in the same city, taught at the same school. It was nice because I got to watch the kids grow up and improve and it wasn’t long before they knew more slang than I did,” he laughed and was pleasantly surprised when Clint chuckled as well. 

“Sounds like you miss it. Ever think about going back?” 

“All the time,” Bruce answered immediately, glancing up at Clint to see him fixing his face. By the time Bruce could take in his expression, it was the same small smile and attentive gaze but he could have sworn he saw something else when he first looked up. 

“Do you plan to?” Clint asked, this time dropping his eyes down to his food and taking a few bites while he waited for a reply. 

“Maybe one day. Maybe I’ll retire there. Volunteer in the mornings like a good senior citizen.” He tried for a joke and Clint did give him a smile but it didn’t quite touch his eyes. What had he said? “And what about you?” 

“What about me exactly?” 

“Well, I told you a chunk of my history. Tell me something about yourself.” Bruce was going outside his comfort zone here. Asking people questions, asking someone he barely knew to tell Bruce information about himself. It felt weird but not weird enough to try and take it back. 

“I was in the army. Sam, Bucky, Steve, and Nat were too. That’s how we all met. We were in the same unit.” 

“I never knew that. Bucky told me he met you through Nat.” Clint’s head tilted to the side and Bruce immediately realized his error. “I may or may not have asked Bucky about you. Can you blame me?” 

“No, I cannot. I did the same.” Bruce’s eyebrows raised but Clint continued. “And he did. Technically. Nat and I bonded immediately, met on the bus to the base and chatted the whole way. We went through training together.” 

“Natasha?  _ Chatting _ ? I don’t buy it.” 

Clint laughed. “When I look back on it, I’m as confused as you are but something about all of this,” he said, gesturing to himself, “must have put her at ease. After that moment though, she dragged me around everywhere. Literally. So when we got our assignments, she dragged me over to meet Sergeants Barnes and Rogers, and Captain Wilson.” 

“Sam outranked you?” 

“Sure did,” he said with a smile. “So I guess Bucky got you on a technicality there.” 

“Sneaky bastard,” Bruce laughed, shaking his head. “Wow, I never knew Natasha was in the army.” 

Clint laughed again and said, “Natasha could kick all of our butts with her eyes closed and one arm tied behind her back. Don’t let her size fool you.” 

“No, it wasn’t her size I just… I always figured CIA or something.” 

“Yeah, I could see that. And I guess size wouldn’t mean anything to you, would it? You  _ did _ nearly knock  _ me _ on my ass. No offense.” 

“None taken. I own mirrors, I know what I look like.” 

Clint’s laugh was loud and unexpected and he slapped a hand over his mouth. Bruce was absolutely entranced by it. By the sound, by the huge smile, by the way his shoulders shook and eyes crinkled. He had it bad for this guy and it was only getting worse the more he talked to him. He smiled simply because Clint was smiling. 

“Also,” Clint said once he had stopped giggling at Bruce’s comment, “was that just a well-placed shove or…?” 

“Brazilian jiu jitsu.” 

“Oh, so he fights too,” Clint said, nodding approvingly. “Very cool.” 

Bruce could not honestly remember the last time someone had said he was cool. Granted, MJ, Ned, and Peter had come and complimented him earlier but that was for being a weirdo. Clint was complimenting him for something that was  _ actually _ cool. What an improvement from  _ creep _ . 

Bruce was a grown ass man. Being called ‘cool’ should not have meant this much and yet. 

“Thank you,” he replied, trying desperately to fight back the blush attempting to rise onto his cheeks. 

They chit-chatted a little after that, kept things light. Clint asked where Bruce was from—Dayton, Ohio but he moved to Manhattan when he was a teenager due to his father’s job—and Bruce asked Clint who said that he always told people Brooklyn because whenever he said he was raised in Iowa they immediately started making corn jokes. 

“So why tell me?” 

Clint snorted. “Are you kidding? You’re from  _ Ohio _ . If you make a corn joke, I get to make one right back.” 

Bruce laughed and the conversation carried on. Neither of them lingered on their childhoods or home life and Bruce was incredibly grateful for that fact. He wasn’t ready to tell Clint about his father or going to live with his cousin (the real reason why he’d moved to New York) after his mother’s death, no matter how eerily comfortable talking to Clint was. 

For once, Bruce wasn’t tripping over his words or overthinking every syllable. He cracked his dry jokes and laughed at the ones Clint made. He felt relaxed. The kind of relaxed that he only felt when in front of his students or with his close friends. Bruce knew something about that should worry him but at the moment he couldn’t for the life of him think of what it could be. 

“Oh, shit,” Bruce said when his phone alarm began blaring. He fumbled with his jacket, trying to get the phone out, apologizing to other customers nearby who weren’t bothered in the slightest by the noise. He switched it off and took a breath, his pulse racing. 

He ran his hand through his hair, which disobediently flopped back onto his forehead, and exhaled heavily, checking the time. 

“Everything okay?” Clint asked, worried. 

“Yeah, that’s my lunch alarm. I have to go get ready for my last lecture,” Bruce told him. “Sorry.” He dug through his jacket again, looking for his wallet. 

“You know, you apologize a lot for things you don’t need to,” Clint observed, something strange about his tone that Bruce didn’t have time to focus on and mentally dissect. 

“Force of habit,” Bruce answered, also without taking the time to consider the repercussions of such an honest response. 

Clint clicked his tongue quietly but said nothing else, watching Bruce finally find his wallet and take out his card. 

“Oh, no. It’s on me.” 

“What? No,” Bruce said, tougher than he wanted but his brain was currently thinking about so many things at once—the time it would take the walk back, what he needed from his office, if he had all his slides ready to go and essays ready to hand back—that a soft tone wasn’t added to his response. “You showed me this place, the least I can do is pay.” 

Clint laughed but again, something was off. Did he sound nervous? “Fine, if you won't let me pay, we split the check.” 

Bruce didn’t have the will nor the reasoning to argue that he should pay, so he put down half plus a tip and slid on his jacket. He was also caught on the fact that Clint wanted to pay for the entire meal. That was a thing people did on dates, right? Or was Bruce already stumbling down the path of overthinking? 

Clint eyed the bills on the table. “That’s more than you owe.” He narrowed his eyes. “Just because I’m a security guard doesn’t mean—”

“It’s the tip,” Bruce cut in. “This whole back and forth was not because I assumed you didn’t have much.” 

Clint started digging around for money but Bruce held out a hand to stop him. “Stay. Enjoy your lunch. I’ll see you around and thanks. This was nice.” He wasn’t truly offended by Clint’s assumption of him, he just needed some space from him so he could think properly and clearly without the worst distraction he’d ever encountered. 

He also needed to start mentally preparing himself for letting Tony know he’d lost the bet and what that meant for him. 

He sighed as he left the cafe, not looking back to see if Clint was watching him. He headed back the way they came and didn’t stop walking until he had rounded the corner, at which point he stopped, put his hands on his hips and took a few deep breaths. 

So that had happened. Lunch. With Clint. And it had been peaceful. He had learned things about Clint and had gotten to interact with him one-on-one and that was good. That should have been good? So, why wasn’t it good? 

Well, for one annoyingly huge reason. 

Bruce had all but convinced himself that his crush on Clint was physical and nothing else. Then he had figured that it was physical plus the fact that he loved the character he had based on Clint, though they weren’t the same so he still could reason that his infatuation wasn’t actually anything to do with Clint as a person, only as an object and an incompatible-though-related concept. But now? 

Now Bruce had to deal with the harsh reality that his character Ronin and Clint Barton were uncannily similar and that meant that maybe he  _ did _ really like Clint. He just didn’t know it until now. 

“Oh, for Pete’s sake,” Bruce said out loud, leaning against a lamppost. He took a breath, straightened himself up, and crossed the street, breaking into a light jog as he realized how much time his little mini anxiety attack had cost him. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Hey, so I know you’re busy but I just wanted to ask if you’d be up for lunch again,” Clint asked.

“Good thing we didn’t bet money. I mean, damn. I think that man wants to swap spit with you, Banner,” Tony said, offering Bruce the container of edamame. 

Bruce took it, frowning the entire time. The evening had been _unbearable_. He came home, knocked on Tony’s door and said he’d had lunch with Clint. Tony had grabbed him by his shirt and dragged him into his apartment, pushing him onto the couch with a sharp ‘do not move’ instruction that Bruce didn’t disobey while Tony ordered them dinner. 

That was three hours ago. Bruce had since told Tony in detail about the afternoon, excluding only his revelation about the similarities between Ronin and Clint because he needed some more time to himself to process that first. 

“It doesn’t necessarily mean that. He could just be lonely. Or trying to make good on our agreement to start over,” Bruce argued though with a lot less fire than he had at the start of the three hours because Tony was wearing down his resolve. “And don’t you have any euphemisms from our age group?” 

“Well,” Tony began, lifting his wine and taking a slow sip, “when I say things like ‘he wants to fuck you seven ways to Sunday’ you do—yes! That! You make that face right there.” Tony pointed his chopsticks at him and Bruce could feel the way his entire face had scrunched up in distaste. “So I figured junior high was probably a good period to choose from.” 

Bruce rolled his eyes and sat back in his chair. They were eating at the table instead of on the couch because, as Tony had said, this was too important for slouching. 

Tony continued talking since it didn’t seem Bruce was so inclined at the moment. “So, the last time I checked in with the original plot, where were you? Six chapters? Seven?” 

Bruce sighed. “Eleven,” he admitted reluctantly. 

“Eleven? Oh, so someone _did_ keep writing then.” 

“A little here and there but then he came to my office that day and…” He mimed an explosion with his hands and then let them fall with a smack onto his thighs. He looked down at his food, wanting the next few bites but too anxious about confronting Clint to even think about eating any more. 

“Okay, so, lay it on me.” 

“Lay what exactly?” 

“All the worst case scenarios you have because apart from him being paranoid he’d end up on the six o’clock news for some reason, I don’t have much.” 

Bruce inhaled deeply and sat up a little more, counting off on his fingers. “He might think I only want him around for profit. Or that my interest in him only goes as far as the book. He might say no. He might hit me.” 

“Hit you, Bruce? Really?” 

Bruce shrugged. “I distinctly remember you saying to list _all_ of the worst case scenarios.” 

“Well, in that case, he might just kiss you.” 

“Tony.” 

“What? Oh, right. I forgot. That would be a _best_ case, huh?” Tony smirked. 

“Focus please,” Bruce said, continuing to list a few more scenarios that had played out in his head on the subway ride home. What if Clint said yes but then close to the end, revoked his blessing, his permission, to use his likeness? What if he got a hold of a copy and sold it himself, pretending it was his own work? Or just published it online for the world to read before its official release? 

What if he just said _yes_?

“Seriously? Him saying _yes_ is on the _worst_ case scenario list? Do we need to look up the definition for ‘worst’?” Tony asked, honestly exasperated now. “Bruce, why can’t you just accept that a good thing has happened? And that more good things can happen?” 

Bruce laughed but it was all scorn and derision. “Because,” he began, sounding a little miserable, “when have good things _ever_ continuously happened to me?” 

“Well, expecting the worst will only prompt it to happen.” 

“And hoping for the best will only hurt me,” he retorted, locked in a stare down with Tony. Tony’s jaw flexed and he refused to look away. Normally, Bruce would give in for the sake of moving on with their lives but not tonight. He was determined to hold his ground, so he summoned up every ounce of stubborn anger he could to stare right back at Tony. 

“We don’t have to live everyday defined only by our negative experiences, Bruce. We can choose to see the good in things and people. Or at least try.” 

“Maybe _you_ can. Not all of us have that luxury.” 

“You’re right. It _is_ a luxury. Not one that most people have or could even imagine.” 

Bruce scoffed. “Are you really about to give me the ‘some people have it worst’ bullshit speech?” 

“No,” Tony said, deeply offended and Bruce heard it in his voice and regretted saying that. “I never have and never would because that’s dismissive of you and your personal struggles and also just such a backwards, unhelpful line of reasoning that we as a society should do away with unless we’re using it on, like, Zuckerberg. What I’m saying is that you and I _do_ have that privilege, that luxury, to still be able to look for the good in people and actually find it and yet here you are blatantly choosing not to in order to make your own life harder.” 

“Not harder. Safer.” 

“There’s a fine line between safe and secluded, Banner. Right now it feels like you’re drifting towards the latter.” 

“So be it.” 

“Fine,” Tony said, still maintaining eye contact as he stood. He grabbed his jacket, phone, and keys, heading for the door. “You wanna be like this? Well, you can do it on your own. By now you and I both know you’re only saying all this shit because you know I’m right and don’t want to accept it. He _likes_ you, Bruce.” He pulled on his shoes. “Good things _can_ happen to you and, honestly, I’m convinced that Natasha knows everything that’s happening everywhere all the time and if she didn’t think Clint was a good guy, you and I both know she would’ve told you. But anyway, happy wallowing.” 

“I’m not wallow—where are you going?” 

“I’m leaving.” 

“This is _your_ apartment.” 

“Sure is. Lock the door on your way out and throw out any leftovers. I’m gonna go spend the night at Steve’s. Call me if you need me.” Tony lifted his keys to wave and left the apartment. 

The sound of the door closing rang out in the sudden silence. The room felt cold and much too empty without Tony’s presence to bring it warmth and life. It was such a sudden deficit that Bruce rubbed his arms, goosebumps there. 

He was angry though. Frustrated. With Tony. 

Bruce wasn’t _making_ his own life harder! He was trying to keep himself alive, figuratively speaking. He was _protecting_ himself. It was a completely normal thing for anyone with even an iota of self-preservation to do. 

But then again… Clint hadn’t come across as nasty this afternoon. He was nice. Funny and polite. _Chivalrous_ even, which wasn’t a word Bruce often found he could use to describe men nowadays. Sure he’d been guarded about some questions and left others completely unanswered or statements unfinished but he hadn’t seemed like a bad person at all. 

In fact, as Bruce kept thinking about it, he reminded him so much of Ronin. Ronin was the first character Bruce had ever fallen in love with. 

Mark, based on himself, he had all but punished throughout the entire book and he was sure a therapist would have a field day with that knowledge if they ever got their hands on him. 

Robert, Tony’s protagonist, he’d felt a fondness for; the kind of bond he imagined brothers close to one another might have, and he felt a deep-rooted protectiveness too. 

However, with Ronin it was an almost immediate sort of chemistry. He couldn’t wait to learn more about him, get to know him, and the more he did, the more he liked him and then somewhere around the time that he started the fourth chapter, he was already in love with the character. 

So to slowly find out that Ronin and Clint were not so different after all… That scared Bruce more than anything and maybe if he had just _told_ Tony that, Tony wouldn’t have left. Maybe he would have understood that Bruce’s fear wasn’t because he doesn’t _want_ good in his life but because it’s been so long since he’s had it that he’s afraid he’ll screw it up again. 

“This is stupid, he doesn’t even like you that way,” Bruce said aloud to himself. He leaned forward onto the table, his head rested in his hands, and he stared at the empty seat where Tony had been. 

He stayed like that for a good five minutes before getting up, his back protesting suddenly being upright, and starting to clear up. He put the leftovers in the fridge instead of the trash because either Tony would come back and be grateful for them or Bruce would eat them tomorrow when he inevitably forgot to make himself dinner. 

He tidied up and then locked the door as asked, making the three-step trek across the hall to his own apartment and heading inside. 

It was dark and too hot. Almost the opposite of Tony’s. Bruce instantly felt smothered by it and rushed to a window to let in a cool, fresh breeze. It was colder outside than he’d anticipated, though it was only early November. 

He closed the window again and fell down onto his own couch, slowly shrugging off clothing and leaving it where it fell on the floor or the couch. 

Five months. 

Five months had passed since he had first laid eyes on Clint Barton and if someone had asked him if he saw himself getting into the predicament he currently was in, he would’ve very confidently said no. 

How in five months had he managed to make such a mess of his own life? 

He headed for the bathroom to get ready for bed, staring at himself in the mirror as he brushed his teeth. He pointed at his reflection with the toothbrush. 

“You are a disaster,” he told himself, putting the brush back into his mouth to finish up. He spat into the sink and stood again, still staring at himself. “Gonna fuck everything up again, huh?” 

Bruce wasn’t incapable of seeing the good in others. He just had a hard time seeing it in himself. 

+

  
  


**Sam:** Hey, dinner at ours Thursday? 

Bruce stared at the message for a while before finally unlocking his phone. He knew this was more than likely a set up but right now all he could think about was apologizing to Tony. 

It had been a couple hours since their disagreement and he hadn’t heard from him. He himself had also not yet reached out though so he couldn’t blame Tony. Especially since _he_ was the one who needed to do the apologizing anyway. Tony was just trying to help, had been this entire time. It was Bruce’s fault that he left out important information. 

He knew that a dinner at Sam and Bucky’s wouldn’t just be the three of them because that would be insanely awkward. It would likely be Nat and Okoye, and Steve, which meant Tony, thankfully, and also Clint because he was Bucky’s friend and because this invitation was probably another thinly veiled attempt at pushing Clint and Bruce together. 

**Sam:** it’s ok if you wanna know who’s coming 

Bruce’s thumbs hovered over the keypad and he exhaled in relief when he saw Sam’s new message come up. 

**Bruce:** if you don’t mind 

**Sam:** nah, I get it. Us two, Steve and Tony, Clint, Nat and Okoye. 

Bruce hesitated again and then he forced himself to send a reply. 

**Bruce:** sounds nice. Anything I should bring? 

**Sam:** just yourself. How’s six sound? 

**Bruce** : perfect. Thanks for the invite 

**Sam:** our pleasure 

Bruce put his phone down and rolled onto his back. He had spent the morning in bed. It was nearing eleven and the most he had moved was to use the bathroom and get himself water. 

Saturdays were always his lazy days. He’d catch up on sleep or reading, sometimes cleaning and other housework like grocery shopping, but, for the most part, Saturdays were for doing a lot of nothing and normally he did a lot of nothing with Tony. 

Even now that Tony and Steve were together, he still saw a lot of him. They were both independent people, happy to have their space every now and then, not joined at the hip like some couples. Bruce was grateful for that because he would have had a very hard time giving Tony up completely, even though Steve was also his friend. 

He sighed, tucking his hands under his head and looking out the window. He had opened the blinds enough to let the morning light come in. It had taken forever for the sun to rise now that winter was approaching but it was there, softer and cooler than in the autumn, and it gave him the boost he needed to wake up. 

He grabbed his phone again and opened his messages app. His thumbs hovered for the longest time before he closed the app and instead called. 

“It’s not even noon,” Tony complained on the other end. “You better have a good—”

“I’m sorry. I was being a pessimist and I’m sorry. My fault,” Bruce said immediately before Tony could chew him out or hang up. The silence dragged on for a second. He heard Steve’s deep voice in the background but couldn’t make out the words. 

He heard a kiss and then Tony said, “Gonna take this in the living room, honey.” 

Bruce listened patiently to the sounds in the background. The covers being thrown back and Tony mumbling quietly to himself as he searched for something. Bruce heard Steve’s rumbling voice again and then a quiet ‘aha’ from Tony. 

There was silence for a little bit after that until finally he heard Tony speak clearly, much more awake now. 

“So you were, I dunno, groveling or something? Carry on.” The coffee machine switched on. 

Bruce laughed. “Yeah, I mean, I was. I can come there and grovel in person if necessary.” 

“Not necessary. The apology will suffice.” 

“You’re too nice to me, Tony,” Bruce said, trying for playful and light but there was so much truth to it that Bruce’s breath caught in his throat. 

“Well,” Tony said, “somebody has to be since you aren’t.” Bruce didn’t know what to say to that and he wondered if, like always, Tony had read him without letting him know. He felt a stinging behind his eyes and blinked a few times to ward off tears.“I get it, you know. I mean, I know you know. Of course you know. How many times have we had this conversation tipsy in your apartment while mocking _Jeopardy_ contestants and answering the questions faster?” 

Bruce let out a soft sigh. “A lot.” 

“Yeah, so I’m offended that you apparently thought I _didn’t_ know what was going on.” Bruce listened to him sip his coffee, waiting. “You and me, we’re both notorious self-saboteurs. But you know what else we are?” 

“What?” Bruce asked. 

“Best friends.” Bruce smiled. “ _Best_ friends, Banner,” he repeated emphatically. “And, as such, we gotta—I mean, we _have to_ —look out for each other and when we notice that we’re back on our bullshit, we have to look each other dead in the eye and say cut that shit out. There’s no being gentle here. It’s all about ripping the bandaid right off.” 

“I know,” Bruce said, softly. And he did. How many times had he been Tony in this situation? Reminding him that people loved him, that Bruce loved him? Reminding him he was worth the effort it took to get close to him and deserving of love and happiness? 

Even with Steve. In the very beginning after their first official date at a restaurant, Tony had come home bouncing back and forth between two extremes—I love him and I’ll ruin him. Bruce knew that still those two ideas warred inside him but Bruce also knew how angry he had been listening to Tony talk about how he didn’t deserve someone like Steve; how scared he was that Steve was going to realize that while Bruce assured him that anyone would be lucky to have Tony in their life. 

He _knew_ Tony understood but sometimes he got so deep in his own head, that he forgot. Sometimes he forgot just how many times they had had this same, stupid argument but in the moment, it just felt so real, so hard to refute. 

“You still there, Brucey?” 

“Yeah,” he breathed, the air coming out a little jaggedly. 

“You alright?” 

“Getting there.” 

“You want me to come there?” 

“No. I want you to enjoy your morning with Steve.” 

“My beloved blond is currently several levels deep in sleep and likely won’t be fully awake anytime soon if how late we stayed up is any indication.” Bruce could practically hear the smirk in Tony’s voice. “You sure?” 

“Yeah. I think I’ll go for a walk. Clear my head. Sam invited me for dinner this week. You definitely coming?” 

“To my in-laws for Thanksgiving? Of course.” 

Bruce had actually forgotten Thursday was Thanksgiving. He normally spent it with Tony eating takeout and watching the parade. “Right, almost forgot. Okay. I’ll see you when I see you.”

“See you later, Brucey.” 

“And Tony?” Tony hummed. “We’re okay now, right?” 

Bruce expected a snarky reply but instead he got: “Of course. Always. Talk to you later. Please don’t wear anything corduroy on your walk. Or ever.” 

Bruce laughed. “Sure thing. Bye, Tony.” 

Bruce fell back on his bed, feeling lighter now that the natural order of the universe was restored. He put his phone back on the charger and went to shower and change, for once listening to Tony and choosing a simple pair of jeans instead of his extremely comfortable corduroy pants. 

He glanced over at his writing desk, his notebook there where it had sat, untouched, for the last few weeks. He took a half-step towards it, considered taking it with him, and then decided against it. He’d rather have a peaceful day to himself because he knew tomorrow he would officially start worrying about the dinner. Who knew what Thursday would bring. 

Dinner. 

With Clint.

 _And_ the others. 

He already knew they were all going to be watching them like a hawk. He wasn’t sure what Bucky’s MO was beyond wanting all his friends to be on good terms with one another and he _knew_ what Tony’s MO was but he still wasn’t excited for all the subtle-not-subtle behavior. 

He sighed, grabbed his jacket, and headed out to a nearby cafe for breakfast. 

The place was small, cozy. He was semi-familiar with the staff and they recognized him as well, waving when he came in. He didn’t go there as often as he did Nat’s bar but Bruce was nothing if not a creature of habit. He didn’t mind new things or change, he just had a preference for the comforts of familiarity. 

He was halfway through a new list of worst case scenarios for the dinner when his phone buzzed. 

**Peter P.:** Hi Prof Banner, I don’t mean to sound impatient but you forgot to send me the notes on my latest edits. Again, sorry. 

“Dammit,” Bruce swore quietly, putting down his croissant and grasping the phone with both hands to respond quickly. 

**Bruce:** Hi Peter, sorry, that’s my fault. Something came up yesterday but I’ll finish reading now and send you the notes asap! 

Peter thanked him and then apologized again, which made Bruce think of Clint’s comment the other day at lunch about him apologizing too much. He wondered what he had meant by that. Apart from the obvious of course that he _did_ apologize a lot. 

He quickly dismissed that thought because he was done thinking about Clint right now. He needed to head home and get Peter his notes. The poor kid. Bruce had kept him waiting all this time. 

Bruce left a few bills on the table and grabbed the remains of his croissant and coffee, waving at the barista who always greeted him by name, and rushing home. 

It was nearing four o’clock when Bruce finally sent off his notes—he’d made sure to be extremely detailed but also to commend for what he thought was excellent. He’d read through the document a couple times, highlighting and making notes in the margin. He wanted to be as thorough as possible seeing as he had made Peter wait and probably stressed the poor kid out. He scanned and uploaded his notes and emailed them to Peter along with a typed version in case he couldn’t read Bruce’s handwriting. 

He’d also taken the opportunity to finish up a few other things requiring his attention. A few faculty emails he needed to respond to, some other student questions and deadline requests—some he granted, some he did not—and then just a few more miscellaneous items on his to-do list while he had his laptop open. 

Finally finished, he closed it and leaned back on the couch, removing his glasses and rubbing his tired eyes. 

There was so much to think about but Bruce didn’t want to think about any of it. He didn’t want to think about exams coming up; he didn’t want to think about dinner Thursday night; he didn’t want to think about Clint, and he most certainly didn’t want to think about his book. 

He wished there was an alternative to sleeping where he could just shut his brain down for a while and experience some quiet, a reprieve from all the constant noise demanding his attention. Or just stop thinking for a while, even if he had to stay awake. To be able to simply say ‘I’m not going to think about that’ and have it actually go away would be amazing. He wondered if that was what it was like for people who didn’t have anxiety or feel the need to over-analyse everything. 

His stomach growled and that was when he realized that he had only had one chocolate croissant and a cappuccino all day. He stood to go to his kitchen but knew the likelihood of finding something worthwhile was very low. He had been fairly good about keeping his kitchen stocked in the last couple months but he had forgotten to grocery shop this week. He knew he had frozen chicken breasts in there but he was hungry _now_ , not in two hours once the chicken had finally defrosted. 

Then he remembered the leftovers at Tony’s. He knew himself well. 

He grabbed his key and headed over, stopping in the door when he saw Tony there and Steve on the couch channel surfing. 

“Oh,” Bruce said, feeling like he shouldn’t be there. “Sorry.” 

“Bruce goose, hello,” Tony said, cheerfully. He pointed to his fridge that he was standing in front of and asked, “Thought I said throw this out?” 

“That’s actually what I was coming to get. I was gonna eat it. I didn’t realize you were home already.” 

Tony stepped away from the fridge and gestured for Bruce to dig in. Bruce shut the door behind him, saying hello to Steve who grinned and waved. 

“Figured you were still out on your walk. How was it, by the way?” 

Bruce pulled out the box of leftover sushi and took a bite, not minding the day-old taste despite Tony’s disgusted face. “I went and got a coffee at that place up on the corner but then Peter—y’know, the one with the book?—messaged me about the notes I’d forgotten to send and then I figured I’d also reply to some—”

 _“Bruce_ ,” Tony groaned, grabbing him by both of his arms and shaking a little. “You’re killing me, Bruce. Saturdays are for? Oh, come on, don’t make me say it.” 

“Nothing.” 

“You’re damn right and, you know, it’s also very much okay for you to do absolutely nothing on those days. No one is going to judge you for it. Least of all me.” Bruce heard Steve snort softly in the other room and Tony’s eyes went to him before he rolled them, smiling. “C’mon, make yourself a plate and watch a shitty rom-com with us. Steve’s looking for something now.” 

Part of Bruce wanted to say yes. He wanted to hang out with Steve and Tony and not be alone in his apartment. He wanted to mock cheesy movies with them and eat leftovers and just enjoy himself but another part of him didn’t want to third-wheel them all the time. He didn’t want them to feel like they would have to tone down their couple-y-ness in order for _Bruce_ to be comfortable. 

He was also just not entirely up to company _and_ tired of being the single friend. Tired of being the afterthought on all the couple’s minds after they’d shown their SO some affection or kissed them. Tired of the worried, sidelong glances whenever they ended up watching a romantic movie. He was tired of being the outlier. 

And he knew that as much as Tony was willing to sacrifice to keep Bruce happy, that Steve, although just as sacrificing, wasn’t as close to him and would probably like for Bruce to get a life. He’d never said those words but that’s what Bruce would’ve thought if he were Steve. 

“I can practically _feel_ the overthinking,” Tony said with a loud sigh. “Don’t do it.” 

“Thanks for the invite,” Bruce said despite Tony’s pleading expression. Tony rolled his eyes and shook his head lightly. “But I think I’ll just take these back to mine and call it a night.” 

“It’s four o’clock,” Tony argued. 

“An afternoon then,” Bruce corrected, closing the takeout box and grabbing another. “You sure you don’t want these?” 

“We ordered something,” Steve cut in, standing to come into the kitchen with them. “Bruce, you know I don’t mind if you stay. Really.” 

“I know,” Bruce said although he didn’t and it almost changed his mind but he was actually looking forward to just zoning out on his couch. Plus, he still wasn’t close enough to Steve yet to voice all the uncertainties floating around in his mind as to why he felt he needed to leave. 

He looked over at Tony who knew them all by heart now and he sighed, putting a hand on Steve’s arm. Steve looked down at the touch, then at Tony who shook his head softly. Steve looked back at Bruce like he wanted to argue the point some more but instead said, “Well, if you get bored, don’t hesitate to come join us.” 

“What the cute guy said,” Tony agreed. 

Bruce gave him a nod and left with his dinner, not relaxing until he had closed the door to his own apartment. He looked around, grateful that he had at least cleaned the place up during the week because if he had to come back to a mess that would’ve just been too much. 

He had just a few days before he would once again be in close-quarters with Clint. He needed to prepare himself to not be awkward because this time there would be others around. He could converse with Clint like a normal, sociable human. He’d done it before. Though not really in front of others and that was the hard part—trying to act casual in front of people who could and would see right through it. 

He sighed, falling onto his couch with his cold leftovers and eating mindlessly while he thought. 

  
  


+

“So, um, you and Clint—how’s that coming?” Steve asked, readjusting himself so he could put his arm behind Tony’s back. Tony leaned into his side and rested his head on Steve’s shoulder. 

Bruce shot a glare at Tony who gave back an unimpressed look. “I’m not the only person with eyes around here.” 

On Sunday, Tony refused to let Bruce spend the day alone in his apartment and had decided that if Bruce wasn’t going to come to them, they would go to Bruce. Tony invited himself and Steve over, unlocking the door to find Bruce still asleep at almost noon. He sent Steve to the kitchen to find them some breakfast—Steve had had to take eggs and bacon from Tony’s apartment because Bruce had none—while he went and belly-flopped onto Bruce’s bed. Tony endured a shocked, swearing Bruce with a grin and then, while Bruce was still fussing about privacy, Tony wiggled into his arms and started talking too.

Now it was nearing evening and they were all still at Bruce’s, having decided to stay inside after the rain began. 

Bruce huffed and looked at Steve, hoping to salvage the situation by playing dumb. “What do you mean?” 

Steve looked at Tony who offered zero help. 

“No, no, don’t look at him,” Bruce said, using his teacher-voice as he waved his hand to get Steve’s attention again. 

“I just… are you two, uh… speaking?” Steve asked, relaxing when Bruce began to answer. 

“Yes. We even went for lunch.” 

Steve’s eyebrows raised in what Bruce was sure was supposed to be surprise but Steve was a terrible actor. Bruce knew it! They _were_ conspiring behind his back. 

“Oh, well, that’s really nice.” Steve’s surprised voice was, amazingly, worse than his surprised face. 

“Good save, honey.” 

Steve rolled his eyes at Tony and said, “Oh, come on. I may be a terrible liar but every time you so much as mention Clint, Bruce’s ears turn pink.” Bruce immediately clutched his hot ears. The traitors. “I didn’t need anyone to _tell_ me that you like him, Bruce.” 

“Oh,” Bruce said, wondering if Clint had also picked up on it and hoping he hadn’t. “So you’re not conspiring behind my back?” 

“Oh, no, we totally are. As soon as he figured it out, he told me, and we started plotting. We only got as far as the bar idea though and somehow he managed to get Bucky to drag Clint out,” Tony explained and Bruce sighed heavily. 

“Does Bucky know too?” He wasn’t really ready for everyone and their dog to know. 

“Not as far as I know. We just told him that we think the two of you needed to start over,” Tony said and Bruce nodded slowly, feeling relieved at that. 

“Oh, okay. Good.” 

Bruce wanted to ask if Steve thought there was a chance. This was Bruce’s opportunity to talk to someone openly about it. Someone who knew Clint, knew his history, how his mind worked, and if he could ever like someone like Bruce. 

Bruce couldn’t see it. He couldn’t see himself and Clint walking down the street hand in hand. He wanted to and he had tried to imagine it a couple of times in the last week but he just couldn’t see it. He could see himself kissing Clint but what was hard was imagining Clint kissing him first. 

“Well, Bruce lost a bet so he has to talk to him again soon,” Tony said, his way of subtly reminding Bruce that he had not held up his end of the bargain. 

“Oh, right. Almost forgot about that,” Steve said and Bruce glared but there was no real heat to it. 

“Steve gives me kisses in exchange for information, Bruce. He’s positively Machiavellian. How was I supposed to hold out against such cunning methods?” 

Bruce rolled his eyes but he was smiling as he pulled his legs up into the chair he was in. If he was being honest, it was nice being able to talk about this in Steve’s presence instead of having to wait until they were alone. Plus, an insider perspective would be nice if only Bruce could bring himself to ask for it. 

“Don’t worry, I’m not upset. It’s nice being able to talk about it in front of you, Steve,” Bruce admitted out loud. “Pass the chips please.” He reached out for the bowl and Steve leaned forward to hand them over, Tony grumbling that he was less comfortable when Steve moved. 

It was quiet in the room. Bruce was trying to to focus on the show in front of them—another episode of _Star Trek: The Original Series_ because Steve had never seen a single episode and Tony was tired of all his great references going over his boyfriend’s head—while Tony patiently answered every single one of Steve’s questions about the current episode. 

Bruce watched them for a moment, smiling absently as he did. While Tony explained, Steve watched him instead of the show. Every few words, Tony would grab his face and gently turn it back towards the screen, pretending to be annoyed but Bruce could see the way he was positively bathing in all of the attention and affection Steve was throwing his way. 

Bruce wanted that. As much as he liked to pretend that he was so busy or that he was fine single, he knew how much he wanted someone to look at him the way Steve looked at Tony. He wanted someone to get all excited to see him and for them to ramble excitedly to their friend about him the way Tony did about Steve. He wanted someone he could drag to his friend’s house and explain old episodes of Star Trek to. Someone he could giggle with and curl up with in bed, feeling safe and warm and loved. 

And the worst part was that he knew he didn’t want _someone_ to do all those things with. He wanted Clint. 

“Mm-hmm and what’s that?” Steve asked, pointing at the screen.

“What?” 

“The thing in Kirk’s hand.”

“That’s a phaser. Come on, I know you know that one. That’s episode one knowledge, Steve!” Tony said, not truly frustrated. 

Steve smiled. “I know. You’re just cute when you get all worked up.”

“He’s not wrong,” Bruce said and Steve turned to him, gesturing out with one arm towards him as if to say ‘see!’ “Your voice goes up an octave and you forget to take a breath and the hand movements!”

“Oh, man, I _love_ those,” Steve cut in. “You really do have Italian blood in you, don’t you, doll?”

“I—wait. Doll? Yes, I like that,” Tony said, turning to Bruce and putting on his best expression of absolute disbelief. “And as for you: _et tu, Brute_?” 

Bruce laughed. “The last person in here who gets to be a traitor is me, you conspirators.” 

“He may have a point,” Steve said. Tony turned back, cleared his throat, and waited. When Steve said nothing Tony cleared it again, his eyes widening expectantly. “Um,” Steve said, looking to Bruce for answers. 

“He wants you to say ‘doll’ again,” Bruce explained. 

“Oh!” Steve said, laughing. “He may have a point, _doll_.”

“Much better. And yes, he might, but that doesn’t mean I don’t get to be dramatic.”

“My life would be so boring and easy if you ever stopped being dramatic.”

“I know that was only half a compliment but I’m choosing to ignore the part I don’t like so thank you, Bruce.”

They joked for a little while longer until the conversation naturally fizzled out and Steve’s attention was caught by the latest planet the Enterprise had landed on, making him go silent as he actually watched the show. Tony looked proud. 

Meanwhile Bruce retreated into his own mind for a little while. The company was nice and it kept him from thinking too much, which was wonderful, but there were some things he actually _needed_ to think about. He sighed. They could wait. At least until Tony and Steve had left.

He tried to focus on the episode but found he couldn’t. In the last hour, his brain had been compiling a list of questions to ask Steve when he finally found the courage to do so. Well, one question was determined to find its way out of Bruce whether he felt ready to ask it or not. 

“Hey, Steve?”

“Yeah, pal?” he asked, putting a chip in Tony’s mouth to keep him busy. Tony was currently trying to slide his hand under Steve’s shirt and Steve kept swatting it away and giggling. Bruce didn’t even mind. It was honestly adorable and he was just happy to see Tony feeling so carefree with someone, able to be himself. 

“So at lunch, with Clint, he said—”

“Oh my goodily gosh, Bruce, you’re about to make Steve’s night,” Tony said and Steve slapped his hand away a little harder this time. “Ow.” He shook it and pouted. 

“What? What do you mean?” Bruce asked, genuinely confused. 

“I,” Steve began, sighing and giving Tony a look to which Tony gave the most insincere sad face. “So maybe I’ve been curious about your lunch with Clint. I couldn’t ask _him_ because he hasn’t told anyone as far as I know but I didn’t wanna pry with you, so…” 

Bruce smiled. Steve was really invested in this. Almost as invested as Bruce had been all those months trying to get Tony to ask Steve out. It wasn’t just sweet of him, it was downright encouraging. Steve wanted this to happen. 

“How about a quick run through?” 

“Yes, please,” Steve said and Tony and Bruce laughed. 

Bruce gave Steve a very brief summary of the afternoon, not delving too deeply into the topics they discussed except for the one he wanted to ask about. 

“Can I ask you a question?” 

“Yeah, sure.” 

“What happened?” 

“What do you mean?” 

“With Clint. What happened. Bucky told me he’s back and that something was rough and some days he’s in a rotten mood and others he’s fine. Just… what happened?” 

Steve was quiet for much longer than Bruce would’ve liked. That kind of silence meant only one of two things: Steve didn’t know and was trying to figure it out or (more likely) he knew but couldn’t tell. 

“Have you asked Clint?” 

“No. It doesn’t seem like his favorite topic.” They hadn’t ever discussed it but Bruce knew what it looked like to have a secret. He knew what it was like having a heavy regret weighing on you, the way it interfered with your life on a daily level, the way certain words reminded you of it. Bruce knew something Clint had said had triggered a memory when he’d suddenly stopped talking at lunch only to come back and change the subject. 

“Hm,” Steve hummed and Tony turned to him. Bruce couldn’t see Tony’s face but he figured he must be silently asking for an answer because Steve simply shook his head, his resolve clear. “Sorry but this is one of those things that if Clint hasn’t okayed me telling you, I have no business doing so.” 

“That bad, huh?” 

“Don’t please, Bruce. I really can’t say anything. I shouldn’t. It’s not my place.” 

“Okay, sorry. I won’t press,” Bruce promised, and Steve nodded gratefully. 

Whatever the hell had happened must have been a lot worse than _‘rough_.’ Maybe Bucky needed that ‘Professor of Understatements’ plaque instead. 

  
  


+

  
  


“Good morning, everyone,” Bruce said, standing down below in the lecture hall, cleaning his glasses off on his shirt. He put them on and looked up at all the tired faces. The 8am class always took a little while to get warmed up and Bruce understood and usually started things off slowly most days. 

But not today. 

“Guess what? Pop quiz!” he announced, grinning at them all and the collective groans that went around the room made him chuckle. “Don’t look at me like that, MJ, I told you all a week ago that there would be a pop quiz _this_ week. I just didn’t say what day.” 

MJ’s scowl intensified instead of relaxing and Bruce gave her a thumbs up. 

“Besides, so long as you’re all handing in your analyses to me today, I don’t see why you shouldn’t get one hundred percent on this quiz.” 

Bruce went to his desk and gathered up the quizzes, walking up the rows of desks and handing a small stack to the first student. They passed them along, taking out their pens and pencils tiredly. 

Bruce almost felt sorry for them _but_ this was the best time to give this particular quiz and for the students who had done the assignment, it really would be smooth sailing. Every question was directly related to the assigned reading and the themes they had explored in their papers. Bruce was a fair professor. 

“Alright, you have twenty minutes starting… now,” he said, watching his second-hand pass the twelve on his watch. He wrote the time on the board ‘STOP: 8:37’ and went to his desk to check his email for assignments sent in this morning. 

He sipped his coffee and scrolled, downloading file after file of last minute entries. He couldn’t do it. Submit something so last minute. He hadn’t even done it when he was in college. There was too much stress. He was always one of those people who turned it in at least two days before. 

“Professor?” came a gruff voice that Bruce would’ve recognized anywhere. 

He looked up to see Clint leaning into the lecture hall, halfway in the door. His expression was serious and it took Bruce a minute to remember that Clint actually worked there and had a job and did security-related things and that _maybe_ Clint was here on a security matter. 

A few students had turned their heads to look up at Clint who kept his eyes focused on Bruce. Bruce noticed his favorite trio all exchange looks but was too distracted to wonder why. He stood, telling his students to focus on their quizzes and that he would be back in a minute. 

He stepped outside into the hallway and Clint closed the door behind them, moving over to the opposite side and stepping close to Bruce. 

Bruce could smell his cologne. It wasn’t strong or overpowering, just a nice fresh scent. Or maybe it was just his soap but whatever it was, it worked very well on him. Bruce had the very distinct desire to press his face into the dip between his collarbones but he dismissed it with a small shake of his head, trying to focus on whatever it was Clint had to say. 

“Something wrong?” 

Clint looked left and right down the hallway, still stern, and then back at Bruce, his face relaxing as he said, “Nah.” He grinned and Bruce couldn’t help himself. He grinned right back. He didn’t even know _why_ he was grinning but Clint was so naturally he was too. 

“Then what was all of that for?” Bruce asked, still smiling, a soft laugh tumbling out of him. 

“Oh, pfft,” Clint said, waving a hand dismissively towards the door. “I just like being dramatic. Hey, so I know you’re busy but I just wanted to ask if you’d be up for lunch again.” 

_What_? Was this really happening? Clint asking him to go to lunch a second time? Was it really this important to him that they be friends? Had Bruce really made _that much_ of a good second impression? Surely not. 

“I, uh—” He glanced towards the door to his room and then back up at Clint. 

“No pressure. It’s completely fine to say no but I was on this floor, figured I’d stop by and ask.” 

He was even offering Bruce an out. But Bruce didn’t want to take the out. He _wanted_ to go to lunch with Clint. If he could, he would have lunch with Clint every day. And dinner. And breakfast the morning after. 

“No, it sounds nice. I—are you sure?” Bruce asked, unable to stop himself. “You know you don’t _have_ to waste your lunch on me. We can still be friends.” 

Clint’s eyebrows furrowed, he seemed conflicted and then his expression cleared. “You’re weird. You know that? Anyone told you before?” 

Bruce snorted. “Yes. Once, maybe even twice.” 

“Obviously you’ve never made friends the normal, human way. Allow me to teach you, professor.” 

“I’ll take notes.” 

Clint laughed, covering his mouth when it echoed down the silent hallway. “Alright, then. I’ll come pick you up after your class.” 

“Back to Marcia’s?” 

“Yeah, if that sounds good to you.” 

“Very. Alright, see you then.” 

Bruce wasn’t sure how to walk away. What should he do? Wink? High five? Wave? 

_No, don’t wave, you’re too close to his face, idiot._

He finally settled on a weak pair of finger guns and immediately wished the ground would open up and just swallow him whole. He felt his ears heat up and quickly walked back to the door, going in without looking back and heading down the stairs to his desk. 

He leaned back on it, his palms flat on top of it and head down as he tried to calm his rapidly beating heart and cool down his flaming ears. That was so damn embarrassing. What was wrong with him? 

“Um, professor?” 

“Yes, Ned,” Bruce said, slowly looking up to locate the young man. 

“Time’s up and we’re all finished.” 

“Wha…” Bruce lifted his watch and sure enough, it was 8:40. Had he really spent ten minutes out there talking to Clint? It felt like seconds. 

“We put the quizzes on your desk,” MJ said, pointing to the small stack of papers beside Bruce. 

He picked them up and quickly flicked through them, pausing briefly on MJ’s because she had drawn a big frowning face at the top along with the words ‘not cool, man.’ He chuckled and slipped the quizzes into a folder to grade later. 

“Alright. Well, let’s get into today’s lecture,” he said, cracking his neck and fingers. He stayed where he was, leaning against his desk, that zen feeling beginning to wash over him and overpower the intense awkward dread from a few moments ago. “Turn to chapter eleven in your books.” 

  
  
  


“Dammit,” Bruce swore when one of the quizzes fell out of the folder and onto the ground. He was so close to making it all the way up the stairs without a single incident. 

He bent to pick it up, hoping he wouldn’t drop anything else in the process, like his laptop, and then stopped when a pair of hands got there before him. He looked up, still half-crouched, to see Clint holding out the paper to him. Bruce stood up and Clint hesitated before grabbing the top half of what Bruce was carrying and holding it in his arms instead. 

“I…” Bruce said, trailing off because he wasn’t even sure what to say. “Thanks. You’re very punctual.” 

“I’m hungry,” he said with a laugh and Bruce thought that made sense. Obviously he wasn’t early because he was so eager to spend lunch with Bruce. 

They stopped by his office on the way, depositing all of Bruce’s papers and folders and his laptop. He grabbed his jacket and scarf because it was a very cold day, and they headed out. 

Outside the wind that blew was like tiny needles on their exposed skin. Bruce turned his head to the side to get away from it and Clint did too. He wrapped his scarf higher around his face so that only his nose up was exposed. 

While they waited at the crosswalk for the cars to pass, Bruce looked up at Clint. They had been quiet for most of the walk, too cold to make much conversation, and a part of Bruce just wanted to make sure Clint was still really there. 

When he looked up, Clint was already looking down at him. 

“What?” Bruce squeaked, caught off guard. 

Clint opened his mouth to say something but then seemed to think better of it and said instead, “It’s just… you’re very small.” 

Bruce snorted loudly, so caught off guard by the observation. “I’m sorry, what?” 

“You, well, you’re small. And then you put the scarf up to your eyeballs and it just makes you smaller.” 

“Am I being insulted right now?” 

“Noo,” Clint laughed. “You asked me what I was thinking, that’s what I was thinking.” 

“Well,” Bruce began as they started across the street, hurrying now because they’d waited too long and were starting to get seriously cold. Bruce especially had not dressed properly. He hadn’t thought it would be _this_ cold today _._ It wasn’t even Thanksgiving yet! Not for a few more days at least. “Isn’t _everyone_ small to you? And I’m not _small_ , I’m short.” 

“There’s a difference?” Clint teased, laughing at Bruce’s expression as he held the door open for Bruce who was busy thinking of a good reply. 

He didn’t think of anything and instead just gave Clint a look and rolled his eyes. 

Clint grinned as they sat and then leaned forward across the table. “Hey, quickly, before Marcia comes over, teach me something to say to her. Like a nice greeting.” 

“Wha—oh, okay. Um. Try: _oi, eu amo a sua comida,_ ” Bruce suggested. 

Clint’s lips formed for a moment with no sound coming out and then he said, “Oyo omo assuwa comida.” 

Bruce tried his hardest to keep his face straight but couldn’t. He broke out into another grin because, god, Clint was _adorable_. 

“Close. Very close. One more time, watch my lips,” Bruce said, trying not to think too much about Clint being focused on his lips. Bruce repeated the phrase, making sure to pause with enough emphasis between each word so Clint could get it. 

Clint tried it again. 

“ _Perfeito_ ,” Bruce said and Clint smiled proudly. 

Marcia came out of the back after one of the servers told her Clint and Bruce were back. She was all smiles like last time, emanating a warmth Bruce didn’t even know was possible to feel from someone who was still, for the most part, a stranger. 

She greeted them with cheek kisses and then turned to Bruce, starting a conversation entirely in Portugese and Bruce didn’t want to exclude Clint but he also didn’t want to be rude to Marcia so he promised himself to translate their conversation for him afterwards. 

“And you?” she asked, turning to Clint now that she and Bruce had exchanged their pleasantries. “How are you?” 

Clint seemed to realize that Bruce had never explained to him what the phrase meant, looking at Bruce in mild panic who simply nodded for him to continue. 

“ _Oi, eu amo a sua comida,_ ” Clint said to Marcia who laughed and leaned down to press another kiss to his cheek. 

“ _Oh, que bom!_ ” she commended him. “Your accent is lovely.” 

“Thank you.” 

“No, thank _you_. You’ve told me that many times but it was nice to hear it in my own language.” She whipped out her notepad and asked for their orders. 

Clint got his usual, even the cold lemonade despite the chilly temperature outside. Bruce tried something else on the menu and substituted his lemonade for _chimarrão_ , a hot caffeinated drink. 

“Hey,” Clint said after Marcia had disappeared into the back again, “what did I actually say to her?” 

Bruce smiled. “You told her you love her food.” 

“Oh! Well, that’s nice. I was worried for a second that I had said something embarrassing. Would’ve been a good way to get back at me for calling you small.” 

Bruce laughed. “True but no, I wouldn’t do that. My everyday life is saying the wrong thing to people. I wouldn’t want you to experience that.” 

“Too late. I think we’re in the same boat there, buddy.”

Bruce just smiled, their conversation interrupted by another server who returned with their drinks. Bruce sipped his drink, savoring the rich flavor and sighing happily. It was just as good as he’d had it in São Paolo. 

“You know,” Clint began, and Bruce looked up to see Clint watching him with a soft look in his eyes that Bruce didn’t understand, “I think you’re more of a people person than you realize.” 

“Right. Of course. Silly me. Please explain, man who knows _next to nothing_ about me.” 

“ _Actually,_ I know an embarrassing amount.” Bruce’s eyes widened at that. Why did Clint know about him? And from whom did he know whatever he did? Nat, maybe? “When Nat stuck up for you, I knew there had to be something I was missing. I’ve known her most of my adult life. She only sticks up for a handful of people but she wouldn’t tell me _anything_ about you. Said I should ask myself. So did Sam, and Steve just gave me _the look_. Y’know? His disapproving look?” 

Bruce shook his head. He wasn’t familiar with it. 

“Of course he’s never looked at you that way. Figures.” Bruce didn’t know what that was supposed to mean or why it came out of Clint’s mouth so bitterly, but he made note of it as well. “So I go to Bucky but he honestly doesn’t know much about you.” Clint paused to sip his lemonade and wipe his mouth with his napkin. “So, naturally, my next best bet were the students.” 

“The students?” Bruce asked, laughing because what on earth could his students have had to say about him? Unless Clint had gone to Peter, Ned, or MJ but the others? 

Judging by the half-awake, uninterested, and completely indifferent crowd that seemed to make up at least seventy-percent of his lectures, he wasn’t the most popular professor on campus. 

“They like you and they respect you, too,” Clint told him. “Finding that out was also a big part of me coming to realize I must have really had a distorted view of you ‘cos nobody gets college kids to like them without it being true.” 

“When did you have the time to figure all this out? What, did you organize a sit down with all my students?” 

“The students like me too, believe it or not. I dunno what to tell you there. If they’re wrong to do so, I’m sure you’ll let ‘em know.” He winked at Bruce and Bruce wasn’t sure what to do next so he smiled. “Anyway, they talk to me. Sometimes they’ll walk with me down the halls or come talk to me at lunch. That’s how I found out about this place.” He gestured around them with his fork. 

“Huh. Well, I mean, you do seem like a likable person.” 

Clint breathed a laugh. “Jury’s still out, huh?” Bruce nodded sheepishly, hoping playful distrust would mask his intense and all-encompassing attraction. “I’ll take it.” 

They ate in silence for a few bites before Clint spoke up again. Bruce was still trying to process the fact that Clint had made such an effort to find out more about him and had apparently gotten a good report back from Bruce’s students. 

“They _do_ love you though, you know that? Everyone of ‘em that I spoke to adores the shit out of you.” 

_“What?”_ Bruce exclaimed, his fork clattering onto the table. He quickly picked it up, apologizing to no one in particular—maybe the table, who knows—and then turned back to Clint, his eyes still wide with disbelief. “You’re messing with me.” 

“Not even in the slightest. I walk this one girl to her dorm twice a week—Jemma Simmons. She doesn’t like walking campus alone at night and usually spends her evenings in the library, so Monday and Thursday I meet her and walk her back. That’s why you never see me on those nights at the bar, I do the night shift,” Clint explained and was that story intended to make Bruce’s heart beat faster and stomach do flips because that’s certainly what it was doing. 

Why was Clint so _great_? 

Clint continued, “One night we were chatting and I just… dropped your name. Asked if she knew about your books and she said yes and then proceeded to tell me about your lecture she took last semester. How much she loved it and would take it again just to listen to you talk.” Clint paused, a lopsided smile on his face. “Apparently you’re famous on some site? Tungler? Or something. She showed me. There’s a page dedicated to you and everything called ‘the softest cinnamon roll English Professor in the world.’ Those were the words I read and I still don’t know what they mean.” 

Bruce had barely finished processing the sweetness that was Clint walking a student to their dorm twice a week when he dropped the rest of the information on him. 

“They… um.” He cleared his throat, his voice very small as he said his next words. “They really like me?” 

MJ had said that she thought Bruce didn’t care about what people thought of him and he’d always known that the only way to truly enjoy what he did was to teach it how he wanted and how he thought best helped the students but a part of him, a part of everyone, always wanted to be liked. 

Just like his protagonists. Anti-heroes, social outcasts, who at the end of the day just wanted to be loved and accepted for who they were and not who the world kept trying to make them be. 

Bruce wanted to be liked and he’d always known a handful of his students did. He’d even known that Jemma did. She’s given him a lovely card at the end of the semester but he’d never known just how deep of an impression his class— _he_ —had left on her and others like her. Enough for an entire _blog_ to be dedicated to him? Did it have followers? Did all his students know about it? 

God, if Tony found it he would never hear the end of it. Tony had been his number one fan from the gitgo, always reassuring Bruce that who he was and what he was doing mattered and would matter to others. 

A part of him kind of wanted Tony to find it, though. To tease Bruce mercilessly about all the nice things his students had to say about him. To show Tony that all of his reassurance of Bruce hadn’t been in vain—it was true, there were people out there who liked him, who really enjoyed his teaching. People who— 

“Bruce?” Clint asked, tilting his head to the side as he attempted to catch Bruce’s eye and bring him back to the moment. 

“Sorry… I just—I never knew.” 

“Wait, you were serious? I thought this was just some compliment fishing thing and I’ll be honest, I was gonna indulge it in the name of friendship but—really?” 

Bruce laughed mirthlessly. “I don’t get why you’re so shocked. You don’t know anything about me. Not really. Not even from the students. I mean, everything you know is secondhand.” 

“True,” Clint conceded, “but that doesn’t mean I know _nothing_.” His stared intently at Bruce, his eyes a solid navy today. He ran a hand through his hair, the soft sunlight slanting through the windows making it a brilliant honey-color. 

Bruce waited for him to expand on that but he never did. Clint continued to stare for a moment before returning his attention to his food. Bruce shifted uncomfortably, not understanding what had just happened, and then Clint changed the subject and Bruce made yet another mental note. 

Their food came out and they fell into a comfortable silence, Bruce enjoying every single bite and thinking about bringing Tony here but at the same time he didn’t want to. He kind of liked that it felt like his and Clint’s place. Maybe he would keep it that way for a while. Or just bring Tony a dish he would like instead of bringing him to _Miss Favela._

“Hey,” Bruce said, “can I ask you something?” 

“Please. All I do is ask you questions.” 

Bruce hadn’t realized that until right now and he was _this_ close to explaining that his social anxiety wouldn’t let him be nosy when he decided that that was probably too personal, too soon. 

“So, um.” He swallowed but there was still a lump in his throat. He grabbed his glass of water and tried to wash it down, exhaling slowly to keep himself calm and give him the courage to ask. “My third book. The one I’m currently writing. The one you’re in.” 

Clint’s eyebrows raised. “Wait. Wait, hold on a second. I was going to be _in_ your third book?” 

Bruce’s face scrunched in confusion. “Did you not know that?” 

“Not exactly. I mean, I knew you were writing something about me but I didn’t know it was going to be one of your books. I—” he stammered, seemingly unsure of what he wanted to say and then he closed his mouth and gestured for Bruce to go on. 

“Yeah, well… you are. Or were. That’s what I wanted to ask you. I’ve been trying for weeks to think of a new character and I can’t. My imagination seems dead set on keeping the one I’ve based off you, so… would you be alright with that? Being in my book?” 

Clint was quiet, staring at Bruce. “I… I’m honored, first of all.” Bruce felt a ‘but’ coming on. “Yeah, I—who am I? Can I know that?” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Like am I a supporting character or something? Am I just part of the main’s squad?” 

“Oh, um.” Bruce swallowed again. “N-no. You’re the protagonist. The main character.” 

“Shut up,” Clint said in utter disbelief and a tone Bruce recognized. The same tone other fans of his work had had when they’d met him for book signings or realized he was their professor. “Is it like the other books?” 

“The same genre but slightly less science-fiction and more just action,” Bruce explained. “But yes, you’re the hero.” 

Clint tensed at that, putting down his cutlery to wipe his hands on his pants. He looked away, his jaw locked tight. One would think Bruce had just admitted to being a pedophile judging by the profound reaction Clint was having. 

He turned his head back towards Bruce but focused on his food, running his tongue over his teeth. “Sorry. I’m not good with that, uh, that word. _Hero_ ,” he said, and it sounded so bitter, so disgusting coming out of his mouth. “It’s an… it’s an army thing,” he explained but it sounded like there was a lot more to that. Maybe that’s what happened. 

“No worries. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you.” 

“It’s not your fault,” Clint said, looking up then. “How could you have known? It’s just... can I not be the hero?” 

“I… if it makes it any better you’re more an antihero.” Clint’s nose wrinkled in distaste. That did not make it better apparently. “I really don’t want to make you the villain and a lot of the story is centered around your character already.” 

“Well, I mean… I guess the character isn’t really _me_ though, is it?” Bruce shook his head. “Because you didn’t actually know me when you wrote him.” Bruce waited. “It’s just, what? My likeness?” 

_Your everything,_ Bruce’s mind supplied in its usual unhelpful fashion. 

“Just your likeness.” It was only a half lie because Bruce hadn’t realized just how similar Ronin and Clint were while he was creating him. It was a complete and utter fluke. It was _supposed_ to only be his likeness. 

“Okay,” he said quietly. “Yeah, then that’s—that’s fine.”

“Are you sure?” Clint nodded. “Clint.” 

“I’m sure. One hundred percent. Like you said, it’s not _really_ me. He just looks like me and well, he probably only looks like me to you. Other readers might see someone else.” 

“That’s true,” Bruce said, so very curious to know more about why Clint reacted that way. Never had he come across someone who didn’t want to be the hero. Why was it such a big deal? What on earth had happened? 

After a moment of silence, Clint seemed to have overcome or maybe just pushed aside whatever bad memories the word _hero_ had conjured up and he was more or less himself again. 

“So I was your main character? That’s what all the staring and notes were for?” 

“Yeah,” Bruce admitted. “Really is the first time I’ve ever sat and observed someone for a story like that.” 

“Really? Then how’d you write the first two? Who did you base them on?” 

Bruce hesitated because while the book about himself had been heavily fictionalized it still dealt with a lot of the same issues Bruce himself had. An abusive parent, a traumatic event as a young teen, getting the girl, losing the girl, coming to terms with the monster inside himself. 

And then Bruce remembered Clint saying he had liked the first one more and suddenly he was so full of questions that he knew he had to give an answer to get one. 

“Um. Th-the first one was based on myself. The second on Tony,” he told him. 

Bruce watched Clint carefully, scrutinized every nano-expression as he looked for a reaction; as he looked for that ‘wait, what’ moment to strike as the first book’s plot came to mind. 

Instead, it never came. Clint simply nodded and said, "I see,” taking another bite of food. 

Bruce wasn’t sure if Clint was hiding his real reaction and going to freak out later or was wondering just how much of the story was true to life. 

“I’m sorry,” Clint said after a period of silence and Bruce instantly recoiled. The one thing Bruce well and truly hated was pity. Clint seemed to pick up on that because he immediately started talking once he saw Bruce’s face. “I hate it when people say it to me too. I dunno why I did, honestly. Guess it really does just slip out.” 

Bruce wasn’t sure what to say next. He most definitely did not want to talk about any of the things for which Clint might be feeling sorry about. He put his cutlery down gently and sat back, his hands resting on his thighs and appetite completely gone. 

He thought about getting up and leaving but he knew that was just childish. He was a grown man, surely he could handle this conversation without having to leave or he could navigate the conversation onto another topic. 

“How much of it is true?” Clint asked. 

Bruce clenched his fists, willing away the rapid-onset nausea that Clint’s question brought on. So much for changing the subject. He inhaled slowly and waited—hoped—for Clint to ask something less personal but it never happened. It seemed he really wanted to know the answer. 

Bruce knew he was under no obligation to answer or even to answer truthfully and yet he did. 

“Everything that isn’t scientifically impossible,” he said quietly, wishing he could curl up into a tight little ball, put on some music and forget about the world for just a little while. 

“What happened to the girl?” 

Bruce let out a joyless laugh that bordered on a soft, tearless sob. “She’s getting married in two and a half weeks. The invitation’s on my desk.” 

Clint’s eyebrows raised in surprise. “No kidding.” Bruce nodded his head slowly. “You gonna go?” 

“Probably not. What’s one more missed opportunity, right?” 

It was strange to talk about Betty to Clint. They were two worlds that shouldn’t collide in Bruce’s mind, two opposite ends of a spectrum. Betty belonged to a young Bruce and Clint to this current Bruce and they were most definitely not the same. 

It was also strange just how much of a hold Betty still had on Bruce’s heart. Probably something to do with her having been his first love. In fact, she was his first of many things and experiences. He figured she would always hold a special place in his heart, though not always the _most_ special. Maybe going to the wedding would give him the closure he needed to take back some of his heart. 

“Bruce,” Clint said gently, a deep sadness on his features and in his eyes that Bruce simply could not understand, “I think you should go. If she means as much to you in real life as she did to you in that book… I think you’ll hate yourself if you don’t.” 

“I—” 

The screeching of Bruce’s lunch alarm startled them both, Bruce nearly falling out of his chair as he scrambled to turn it off. 

“Sorry,” he mumbled and Clint didn’t say anything but Bruce heard him let out a frustrated sigh. “I have to head back.” 

They were done eating, had been done for a while and were now just sitting and talking. Bruce hadn't even realized time was moving, it seemed to have stopped around them, but sure enough his hour was up and he had a class to teach. 

He pulled out his wallet and laid down what he had already calculated as his half plus a generous tip because doing good things made him feel better. 

He started putting on his jacket and so did Clint. He wanted to tell him to stop and stay, or to let Bruce leave on his own because he needed the few minutes’ walk to clear his head and calm his heart and push away all of the memories Clint’s questions had dredged up. 

Instead he said nothing and Clint laid down his half and stood with him, walking to the door. They both turned and waved to Marcia who came out from the back and blew them kisses and then they were out in the cold again. 

“So you gonna go?” 

“Why do you want me to go so badly?” 

“You still love her, don’t you?” 

“No,” Bruce answered immediately and it caught him by surprise because a few months ago his answer might have been different. He _knew_ it would have been different because when he first received the invitation, it had brought him to tears and now… “But it would be nice to see her again.” 

Clint didn’t speak for an entire block and Bruce didn’t push him to. The quiet between them allowed Bruce time to settle his thoughts and take a breath. 

“Well, then you should go.” 

“I think I will.” 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Looks good. We ready? Bruce, are you ready?” Steve asked.  
> “Yes,” Bruce said, “but I’d like to ask just one more time that no conspiring happen tonight. Whatever does or does not happen, please just don’t be obvious about it. Please.”

The rest of the walk back to campus had been silent. Bruce and Clint parted ways at the C building where Bruce’s lecture hall was located and Clint headed for the B building explaining that he was on duty in the science department. 

Now, in the middle of a lecture, Bruce lost his train of thought. He had given this lecture a million and a half times. He barely even needed his slides, only remembering to click to the next one out of habit and muscle memory. 

He stopped talking, staring down at the floor briefly. He shook his head and blinked a few times. He couldn’t for the life of him remember what he had just been talking about. All he could think of was what questions Clint might have next and what he meant by ‘I always hate it when people say it to me.’ 

There was also the extremely pressing matter of the fact that he had said to Clint he _would_ go to Betty’s wedding. He wasn’t sure why it mattered so much that he had told Clint but now, more than ever, he felt like he needed to make good on that, to actually go. 

Bruce cleared his throat and then looked up to meet the eyes of his students. This was a much smaller class and all eyes were trained on him as they waited to continue taking their notes. 

“I… sorry. Lost my thought. Can anyone tell me where I was?” 

“You were explaining postmodernism,” one student named Jubilee said. 

“You ok, professor?” Kitty Pryde asked. 

“Uh, yeah,” Bruce said, grabbing his water bottle. “Yeah. Okay, so, uh.” He turned to look at the giant PowerPoint behind him and all at once was brought back to his place. “Right. So, postmodernism. The name itself indicates a direct relation to modernism. Postmodernism is simultaneously a break away _and_ a continuation of the modernist stance…” 

Clint was nowhere to be found when Bruce left his lecture and he wasn’t sure if he was relieved or not. He might have actually enjoyed walking out with him. 

He gathered his things into his bag and headed out, bundled up tightly again and as soon as he wrapped his scarf around himself he remembered Clint looking down at him, lines at the sides of his eyes as he grinned and called Bruce small. Bruce would have likely snapped at anyone else who said that but with Clint, Bruce could almost pretend it was a flirtatious tease. 

He thought about dismissing that thought and then remembered that he was allowed to dream and fantasize inside his mind. In his mind, he could imagine—or try to—a world where Clint would flirt with him. 

Waiting for the light to turn, he noticed his favorite trio across the street and waved to them. They didn’t immediately recognize him and maybe his scarf really was all the way up to his eyeballs. 

“Professor B, whaddup?” Ned asked, lifting his hand for a gloved fist bump and Bruce panicked briefly before tapping his fist to Ned’s. 

“I know it’s cold, I just wanted to ask a quick question,” Bruce said, waiting for their nods. 

“As long as it’s not another pop quiz,” MJ said, narrowing her eyes and Bruce smiled. 

“Nope, and don’t be too upset about it. I looked yours over while my other class was taking one. You did excellently.” 

“And me?” Ned asked. 

“I haven’t gotten to it yet but I’m sure the three of you all did very well,” Bruce told them, looking at each of them in turn. 

“So what’s the question, Professor, because, not to be impatient, but I can’t feel my toes,” Peter said, rubbing his hands together. 

“Oh, right. Do you three know about a blog about me?” 

They all stopped shivering at the same time, frozen in place. They exchanged conspiratorial glances and then MJ smirked. 

“The world's softest cinnamon roll?” she asked, her smirk powerful enough to rival Tony’s. “Why, yes. Yes, we do.” 

“So it’s real?” 

“Very,” Ned said. 

“And you’ve all seen it?” 

Peter laughed. “I don’t know what student of yours _hasn’t_ seen it.” 

“ _What?_ How long has it been around?” 

They all shrugged. “Never checked but at least a couple years. I can’t remember who’s the person behind it but it’s like an open submission thing. Anyone can post stuff about you,” Peter explained. “Look. Someone uploaded something from this morning.” 

Peter opened his phone and in a matter of taps and swipes, he had pulled up the page to show Bruce. Bruce scrolled and sure enough there was a picture of him from this morning leaning back on his desk as he delved into another aspect of stylistics. The caption read ‘enough passion for everyone at 8am.’ 

“But _why_ ?” Bruce asked, sincerely puzzled as to why anyone would want to create a blog about him and even more confused that his students _all_ knew about it and apparently contributed. 

MJ stepped forward and patted Bruce’s arm. “Well, Professor B, it’s like this—you’re just really cool. Pop quiz aside, of course.” 

“And a really good teacher,” Ned threw in. “Like, sometimes when one of my other professors talk, I’m pretty sure he’s just enjoying the sound of his voice and not actually caring about whether or not we understand what’s being said but you’re like—you’re like chill but knowledgeable. I like that you break complicated things down into super simple parts.” 

“Oh,” Bruce breathed, surprised but incredibly happy to hear that. “That’s… that's so nice. Both of you. Thank you.” 

“And, you know,” Peter began, “you’re also helping me write a book in your spare time with literally no benefit to you and, actually, it’s _more_ work. You sent me those notes on a _Saturday_ and they were so _detailed_! I—” He cut himself off, his hands moving but no words coming out. “You’re the best.” 

“Wow, I… I just really never knew.” 

“Never knew what? That we like you?” MJ asked, tilting her head to the side and leaning more into Ned because she was cold. Peter shielded her on the other side from the wind and Bruce knew he should wrap this up but he was so unaccustomed to sincere praise that wasn’t from Tony. “Don’t be dumb, professor. Literally everyone loves you.” 

“I really need to get inside though, my fingers are freezing now,” Peter said. 

“Oh, shit, yeah, go, go. Thank you. This really means a lot to me!” Bruce called out to them as they scurried across the street and headed for the main building entrance. 

He turned to watch them and spotted Clint coming out as they went in. He stopped and held the door for them, fist-bumping Ned as he passed and then hurrying towards the humanities building again. He didn’t see Bruce but Bruce smiled anyway watching him go, still greeting people as he passed. He wondered if he was going to see Bucky. 

  
  


“You home?” Bruce called, knocking on Tony’s door because his fingers were too cold to search for his keys. 

He heard a few steps on the other side and then the door swung open and Tony walked away from it, heading towards the back where his workshop was. Bruce went inside and shrugged off his jacket and shoes, grabbing the blanket off the arm of the couch and wrapping it around himself. He followed Tony and collapsed into his beanbag chair again. 

Tony was crouched over his worktable, a set of blueprints on his left side and a small prototype of _something_ on his right. He was mumbling to himself as he tinkered and Bruce just made himself comfortable and checked his phone until Tony was out of the zone and ready to converse. 

Bruce responded to a few emails, one from his boss about a staff meeting this Friday to introduce some new software, and then the rest mostly student inquiries. 

He refreshed and saw nothing, about to switch over to Twitter—because he may not have had tumblr but he did have social media—when an email popped up. 

He switched apps and stared at it for a minute. It was from MJ. Peter and Ned were CC’d. The subject line read: ‘watch with headphones.’ 

Bruce dug around in his bag and pulled them out, clicking on the link once he was all set up. 

The screen opened back to that Tumblr page and there was a play symbol on the post that was otherwise just green. Normally if a student sent him something so ominous there’s no way in hell he would open it but this was the trio. 

He clicked it and it switched to YouTube, taking a second to load but Bruce already had an idea of what was coming based on the title: ‘My professor being adorable for 5 straight minutes.’ 

“Oh god,” Bruce groaned quietly but let the video play anyway. He recognized it and that outfit. It was from maybe a week ago. He was trying to load up his PowerPoint but his computer had updated overnight and was taking ages to turn on. 

He had groaned and dropped his head onto the desk with a thud that registered on whoever’s camera this was. The computer pinged and Bruce looked up only to roll his eyes because it still had another five minutes of rebooting to go. 

_“Okay,”_ video Bruce said, “ _while this hunk of junk is loading, who’s reading an interesting book? I need suggestions.”_

He sat back in his chair, waiting for an answer, wiping his glasses off and sitting them on his nose to look up at everyone. 

“ _I’m reading your book, professor_ ,” Kurt had said and Bruce’s entire face went red. 

“ _Ugh, disgusting. Thank you but no, I will not be rereading that. Do you know how awful it is rereading your own work sometimes? Of course you do, I’m sure you all proof-read the assignments you hand in to me._ ” There were a few chuckles that went around the room, especially after Bruce had called his own work ‘disgusting.’ “ _Is anyone reading something not disgusting?_ ” 

The video skipped a few minutes to Bruce leaning over his computer, his lips pulled down into a deep, comical frown he didn’t even remember doing. 

“ _Please just turn on. Please. I promise I won’t sell you for the new one coming out next month.”_ There was more laughter. Did that many students _really_ laugh at Bruce’s jokes? Was he really _that_ carefree in front of them? He had never seen himself teaching from this perspective, it was strange and oddly satisfying all at once. 

The video skipped again and the PowerPoint was up and Bruce sighed and popped up from his desk to come around and stand in front of it, leaning back. 

“ _Finally! Time to learn, kids_.” 

The video cut out and the words ‘And this was just ONE lecture’ came up and disappeared, followed by the words ‘like and subscribe.’ 

Bruce stared for a minute, feeling his mouth falling open as he saw that the video was indeed dated for last Monday and had five hundred likes and three thousand views. 

The thought of three thousand people watching him—or even just five hundred people watching him over and over again—was hard to comprehend. 

“Whatcha got there? Knowing you, it’s not anything naughty,” Tony said as Bruce pulled his headphones out of his ears. 

“It’s not. It’s… Tony, there’s a blog about me.” 

“A blog? What kind of blog?” 

Bruce went back to the original email and opened the link again which took him to the blog page. He scrolled to the top and handed his phone over. 

“Oh. _Oh._ That kind of blog. Well, at least there’s nothing kinky or inappropriate. This one post says you have chocolatey eyes they would like to drown in though.” 

“What? Where?” Bruce asked, reaching for his phone and Tony handed it back and sure enough, there was the post. “Oh, dear lord.” 

“So… how we feeling about the blog? Thumbs up? Thumbs down? Should I get you a bucket?” 

“No to the bucket. The shock is still wearing off but, uh, mostly thumbs up.” 

“Ohoho, look who’s starting to like praise. Boy, one of these days you’ll be able to take a compliment without looking away,” Tony teased and Bruce chuckled. “On the subject though, how did you happen across this Banner shrine? Were you googling yourself again? Because we both know why that’s a bad—”

“No, I, uh… I had lunch with Clint again today—”

“ _What!_ Lead with that next time!!” 

“—and he told me about it.” 

Tony’s mouth was opening and closing, his eyebrows trying to merge with his hairline, and hands raised but unsure as to which gesture was needed. Finally he closed it and pressed a finger to his lips, humming. 

“Well, now, you got me. I’m speechless.” 

“That’s a first.” 

“Well, it’s not often that you tell me the guy you like has been browsing a fansite of you.” 

“I didn’t say he’d _browsed_ it—”

“Don’t be coy, Bruce. You know as well as I do that if you browsed it, so did he. Okay, while my brain is still working, tell me about lunch.” 

Bruce explained in minute detail, not leaving out even a second of what he could remember. He wanted Tony to know absolutely everything so that he could have a clear sequence of events and emotions in mind. He really wanted to get Tony’s take on all of this. 

Tony had his hand pressed to his mouth, listening intently as Bruce talked and humming where appropriate. When Bruce was done talking he said, “You want a drink? I want a drink. Let’s discuss this over a drink.” 

“Here or…?” 

“Isn’t lover-boy there on Tuesdays? Is avoiding him still a thing you do?” 

“Yes and no. But I’d rather talk about this without the distraction of his face.” 

“Fair enough. I have a nice Pinot noir I’ve been wanting to break out.” 

Settled on the couch with their wine, an order for delivery placed, and their usual space show in the background on mute, Tony began talking. 

“So… I mean, it’s obvious now, right?” Bruce just blinked at him. “Oh, sweet summer child. _Bruce_ , Clint likes you. And I don’t know what’s up with the hero thing but the fact that you actually answered his questions about the book is a big fucking deal too. You like him a lot more than you’ve been letting on, which is just rude.” 

Bruce chuckled but weakly. He knew that. He knew how much he liked Clint and he knew that it had been on a steady incline lately but to hear someone else confirm it was a little scary. What if Clint really didn’t even reciprocate his feelings? What if Clint turned into another Betty but worse. With Betty, it was Bruce’s choice to end things thinking it would be better for them both. With Clint, it would simply be because Bruce wasn’t who he wanted and that would hurt like hell. 

“Okay, so I see you’ve retreated into Quiet Town so let’s switch topics—Betty. You told him you would go. Did you mean that? Do you want to because have you even responded?” 

Bruce nodded. “Earlier I emailed her personally.” 

“You’re messing with me.”

“No, really I… I don’t know how but I did.” 

“And she responded?” Bruce nodded. “ _And said_?!” 

“She said she was happy to hear back from me and that of course I could still come. She’d even saved my spot just in case. And said I could bring my plus one,” he added, looking pointedly at Tony. 

Tony’s eyes went wide and then relaxed. “Ohh, me. I thought you meant Clint. I was gonna do a spit take. Yeah, sure. What’s the plan? Stand mysteriously at the back and leave right after the kiss?” 

“No, I thought maybe I’d talk to her first.” 

“I don’t know who you are but what did you do with Bruce? Are you his stand in while he gets his world rocked somewhere by Clint?” 

“ _I wish_ ,” Bruce groaned and Tony raised one surprised eyebrow. “But I just… I’ve been thinking about it all afternoon. If I’m going to bother going all that way to see her marry someone else… obviously there’s something there that I need to put behind me. _If_ ,” he continued, stressing the word, “ _if_ Clint were to ever actually like me back, I’d like to be able to say I’m not still hung up on someone else.” 

“Bruce, that’s the most emotionally healthy thing I’ve heard you say in the last year. I’m so very proud of you.” Bruce couldn’t help his smile. “Rhodey would be so proud of you.” 

Tony and Bruce might have looked after each other in college but someone else had to make sure the two of them were doing that right. Especially seeing as they were so young. Along came Mama Rhodes—a nickname he hated to this day—who had been their RA and looked after them just a little more closely than the others and had grown closer to them than the others. 

“He would, wouldn’t he? Of both of us.” 

“We should call him and tell him. Think we should call him?” 

“He’s probably working and would cuss us out and hang up,” Bruce said and Tony slowly put the phone down. 

“When you’re right, you’re right. I’ll text him.” He typed out a quick message and actually hit send and Bruce laughed. He couldn’t wait for the reply. “So we need to book some flights. California will be a nice break from this cold hell.” 

“I don’t think ‘cold hell’ is a thing.” 

“It is now, you literal butt. Anyway, let’s check now and get that out of the way. I know how you love being prepared.” 

Bruce grinned happily and sipped his wine. “I’ll ask for the day off.” 

“Alrighty, so Friday to Sunday it is.” 

  
  


They spent a good hour planning the trip. Bruce browsed suits on sale, not minding if he purchased a new one because he knew he could always use it for the fundraisers the university made him do or the next round of interviews Maria set up for him when he finally finished this next book. 

Once flights were booked, a hotel reservation was made, and a suit was put on hold for Bruce to come check out soon, they relaxed again. That heavy weight that had been pushing down on Bruce’s chest ever since he got the invitation felt lighter now, nearly unnoticeable. He was really doing this. He was really going to go see Betty again. 

“Hey, Bruce?” 

“Hm?” he asked, lifting his glass to his lips. 

“Since we are really doing this, I need to know what went down. Because if I run into Thaddeus, I need to know whether or not it’s acceptable to spill my drink on him,” Tony said, trying to keep it light with a joke but the request made Bruce’s skin prickle. 

He chewed the inside of his cheek for a moment and then said, “Yeah, okay. That’s fair.”

He took in a deep breath and began. 

“I hurt Betty. Only once, an accident. It was a bruise on her leg. Her father had found out about us again and he was furious. He went above and beyond to keep us apart. Took her phone, changed her number, changed her accommodation from the dorms to home, and he even had a car pick her up after school so I couldn’t even walk her home.” Bruce inhaled slowly, holding it, and exhaled again. “One day she was at our dorm and I was angry about her father. Ranting and throwing a fit and she tried to calm me down, grabbed my arm and I shoved her but this time she hit the side table. God, I snapped out of it immediately. I was on my knees in a second, inspecting her leg and saying I was sorry.” 

Bruce stopped, shook his head and continued. 

“She wasn’t even upset. Not even a little bit. _I_ was upset. I couldn’t believe I had done it again. Been so blinded by my anger that I’d reacted like that. With _her_.” He dragged a hand down his face and then took a long drink from his wine. “Her father saw it a few days later. He saw the bruise on her leg and made her tell him. And then he found me on campus one day, sat me down and told me he’d seen it and that he didn’t want me to come near his daughter ever again or he’d get a restraining order.” 

Bruce swallowed, bracing himself for the next part. 

“He was so calm and all the while my anger was already bubbling up. I remember balling my hands into fists and gritting my teeth together and then he spoke and all at once, the anger was gone and I felt sick. I had this-this awful twisting in my gut and I couldn’t even argue with him.” 

“What did he say, Bruce?” 

Bruce looked away from Tony. “He said he didn’t want his daughter to end up like my mother.” 

“That fucking asshole,” Tony snarled and Bruce’s head snapped up to look at him. 

He shrugged and said, “The thing is… I agreed.” Tony’s eyes went wide. “I.” He stopped, took a breath. “I’ve got a better handle on it nowadays and even now it’s not great. My temper flares at the stupidest shit. And back then, you remember, it was so much worse. Back then, I worried every day about turning into my father. I sometimes still do.” 

“Bruce,” Tony said softly, resting his hand on Bruce’s knee. “We are _nothing_ like them. You’re not your father and I’m not mine.” 

“I know that. And it’s not like… it’s not like I thought I could ever be so angry that I’d… _kill_ Betty but my father beat my mother and me for years before it got to that. I didn’t even want to risk doing something worse than a shove. A shove is already unacceptable.” 

“So that’s why you pulled away so completely?” Bruce nodded. “Does Betty know that?” 

“I wrote her a letter. Slipped it into her bag one day as I was leaving class. Don’t know if she ever read it. At that point, I’m pretty sure she thought I was a coward for giving in to her dad.”

“She never thought you were a coward.” Bruce looked up. “She would text me. Ask how you were. She never told me about a letter but she didn’t seem to be mad at you. She just seemed worried.” 

“What? Why didn’t—why didn’t you ever tell me?”

“Any time I so much as mentioned Betty you’d shut down for a solid eight hours. Didn’t seem like a healthy topic of conversation at the time.” 

“Yeah, I mean… it hurt. I’m not going to pretend like having a good reason made it any easier but—”

“Maybe you could have. Had you _actually_ had a good reason.” 

“Tony,” Bruce sighed, already exhausted, “I’m not gonna fight you on this. You didn’t live in my home, you don’t know the things that used to go through my mind when I got angry.”

“Yeah but I know _you_ . I’ve known you for _years_. Twenty years exactly actually. I know you better than anyone else knows you, so I think that means I’m entitled to an opinion that’s got at least a modicum of accuracy.” Bruce opened his mouth to protest but Tony continued. “I’ve made you angry over the years. Believe me, I used to push your buttons on purpose when we were younger.” 

“I remember,” Bruce grumbled. 

Tony gave him a small smile. “And not once have I feared for my life or well-being. Yeah, you get angry, yeah you get fired up a little quicker than some of us, and sure, maybe you’ve lashed out a time or two, but I know you’d never hurt me. Or her.”

Bruce knew that as much as Tony could and did at times irritate him and as often as he did think ‘I’m gonna kill him’ that there had never ever, not _once_ , been a true promise of pain in it. The idea of hurting Tony turned his stomach just as intensely as the idea of hurting Betty did, if not more. And when he thought about potentially hurting Clint, he had to close his eyes. 

He knew there was some truth to Tony’s words and as the years had gone by and he had mellowed _somewhat_ and picked up tips and tricks to manage his anger and to deal with his trauma in general, he had felt more and more disconnected from the Bruce that Betty had known, which was why he could so confidently say that her Bruce and Clint’s Bruce were not the same people. 

“I know,” he finally said after a long drawn out silence. Tony had been watching him, waiting for a response. “I know that about myself _now._ I still think a part of me then could have gone off the deep end,” he admitted quietly and Tony didn’t argue, likely hearing the way Bruce’s voice cracked and knowing that he wouldn’t be able to convince Bruce otherwise this time. 

Bruce sat back with a sigh, turning his head to face Tony. “So… that’s what happened.” 

Tony nodded slowly, chewing his bottom lip. “Why didn’t you ever tell me?” 

“I was scared. Scared of speaking it into happening, scared of you starting to see it,” he confessed. Saying it out loud was so painful. It brought back such awful memories. And not just of his and Betty’s relationship coming to an end but also of the last time he saw his mother. 

He closed his eyes tight, shaking his head and Tony scooted closer and gently pulled Bruce into his side, Bruce’s head resting against his shoulder. Tony laid his chin on top of Bruce’s curls and hugged him. 

“You don’t have to be. I’m not going anywhere. I told you freshman year when you tried to get a new roommate: you’re stuck with me, buddy. Come hell or high water.” Bruce laughed though it caught in his throat and he had to swallow past it. Oh, it hurt. 

The doorbell rang and Tony swore. 

“Fuckin—only time delivery comes on time is when you’re busy,” he said, gently removing himself from Bruce and answering the door. He tipped the guy and shut it again, bringing the pizza over to the table. He laid the box on Bruce’s lap and got into position again, pulling him close. 

“Thanks, Tony,” he said, “you’re the best.” 

“Yeah, well, I learned from the best.” 

“Rhodey,” they both said at the same time, chuckling. 

+

  
  


Getting out of bed Tuesday morning was one of the hardest things Bruce had had to do in the last five years _at least_. 

He and Tony had stayed up way too late eating junk food and reminiscing on the better parts of their college experience. Rhodey had even texted back and asked if they were drunk. 

They FaceTimed him for a few hours since the time difference put him in the early evening and caught up on his latest endeavors. There were many updates on the Captain Danvers front and she and Rhodey were going for their fourth date next week. Apparently, Carol was an avid surfer and had promised to teach Rhodey. Tony demanded pictures, threatening to fly to Hawaii on his next trip to California and take them himself. 

They let things get serious for just a little while when Rhodey finally demanded to know what was wrong with Bruce and then once the situation was explained, they moved on. 

When they hung up, it was just so late and Bruce was so drained from their conversation that he almost fell asleep upright on Tony’s couch. Bruce had never been more grateful for an 11 o’clock class in his life. 

He rolled and checked his clock. It was 9:17. If he left at exactly 10:15 he could get to work by 10:50. That was cutting it close but an extra twenty-eight minutes of sleep sounded amazing.

  
  


“Ugh, god,” Bruce grumbled, having pulled up the wrong slide. He walked around his desk to fix it, not sure how he had managed to pull up the wrong one, look at it, and think it was fine long enough to walk around his desk and start talking but somehow he had. 

This was not his first mistake of the morning either. He was an hour into his class and this was his second set of powerpoints. The first set he’d gotten right but he’d lost his train of thought again and had to actually refer to his notes, which didn’t usually happen. Then he’d realized he’d forgotten his water _and_ those extra minutes of sleep had cost him his morning coffee because he did not like being late and so now he was a caffeine-deprived, dehydrated, sleep-deprived, emotionally wasted screw up. 

And all before noon. A new record. 

“Are you alright, Professor?” 

Bruce looked up from his laptop, the new slide popping up on the smartboard behind him.

He looked for the voice, his tired eyes finally finding Daisy Johnson who was watching him with concern. 

He ran a hand through his hair and sighed, looking away. 

“Yeah, just… Rough night,” he said. It had had its nice parts, even its funny parts, but mostly it was exhausting. 

Bruce crossed his arms and was about to start lecturing again when someone else spoke. 

“Do you need anything?” 

“Uh… no. No, I’m good. I’ll just get a pick-me-up after class. Thank you, Piper.” 

He saw Daisy take out her phone but since he didn’t have a strict phone policy and also just couldn’t care less at that current moment in time, he didn’t say anything. He took a breath and continued lecturing, promising the student’s a twenty minute break in ten minutes. 

When the break came, he plopped down into his chair and rested his head on his desk. Closing his eyes even for a few seconds was wonderful. They were stinging and aching and he wondered if he had eye drops but probably not seeing as he didn’t carry them when it wasn’t allergy season. 

All he could think about was crawling back into bed after this class. He only had the one lecture today and then he was heading straight home. 

“Professor?” Bruce grunted instead of speaking and the voice continued, “coffee?” Bruce raised his head and was met with Jemma Simmons and a lot of confusion until he saw that beside her was Daisy, looking very pleased with herself. 

“The… the cafe is across campus,” he said, trying to work it out and also trying to understand why Jemma was there when she wasn’t currently one of his students. He took the offered coffee, however, and sipped it. The hot, black liquid felt like it went straight into his bloodstream. 

“Yeah, I texted Jemma. She was there studying,” Daisy explained. “So… there you go. Hope that helps.” 

They both turned to leave but Bruce stopped them. 

“Wait.” They turned back and came over to his desk. “This is really for me? There’s no but because _I’m_ waiting for a but.” 

Jemma laughed. “No, sir, it’s for you. Daisy said you were having a bad morning. We just wanted to do something nice.” 

“Yeah, I mean, you always give us a hundred percent so…” Daisy said, trailing off and gesturing to the coffee with a grin. “Drink up!” 

Bruce stared at them and then the coffee, going back and forth between the two for a few seconds. 

“I—thank you. That’s incredibly kind of you both.” They turned to leave and then Bruce said, speaking around the opening of the cup as he raised it to his lips, “I guess you’ll be putting this on the blog, huh?” 

Jemma and Daisy both froze, both talking at the same time and Bruce dismissed their worries with a wave. 

“It’s fine. I kind of just wanted to see your reactions. I like it, for the most part.” He wasn’t quite a fan of the more flirtatious posts but in general he thought it was beyond flattering. 

“Oh, well,” Jemma said, eyeing Daisy sidelong. She looked at Bruce again. “That’s just lovely, isn’t it? Isn’t that lovely, Daisy? So nice that you found the blog. The blog dedicated entirely to you, sir, and—” 

“Don’t you have to study, Jemma?” Daisy said a bit too forcefully, faking a laugh as she guided her out of the lecture hall and Bruce did his best to contain his amusement. 

It would be interesting to check the blog later and see what had been said. 

  
  


“Hey,” Clint said, jogging up to meet Bruce as he walked out the doors. Bruce stopped inside, letting the door swing closed again because it was just too cold today as well. 

“Hey back,” he said warmly. He thought he would have an adverse reaction to seeing Clint based on the way the conversation at lunch had gone and then his conversation with Tony but, amazingly, he didn’t. He didn’t feel like he needed to escape or feel exposed because Clint knew things about him now. He just felt happy to see him. 

“You heading to lunch?” 

“Oh, no. Home. Just the one lecture today.” 

Clint’s eyes were roving over him and when they made it back up to his face, Clint frowned. “Everything okay?” 

“Yeah, just didn’t get enough sleep.” 

“Is it the wedding?” 

Bruce didn’t even tense. “No. Tony and I sorted that. Booked our flights, got a hotel. I emailed her myself.” 

“Wow,” Clint breathed, sounding as shocked as Bruce felt. “That’s—that’s great. I’m happy for you.” He didn’t sound happy but Bruce was too tired to ask. 

“Yeah, I think it’ll be good. And thanks. What you said yesterday helped.” 

“Oh, yeah, no problem.” Clint smiled but it didn’t reach his eyes. Bruce could tell it was put on. He’d spent too long watching this man to not know when his smile wasn’t sincere. “So, um, did you wanna grab lunch today or…?” 

“I was actually gonna go home and take a nap. I’m just… today’s not really my day.” 

“Oh. So something other than the wedding?” Bruce didn’t say anything at first, just bit his lip because if it had taken him years to tell Tony what had happened he definitely wasn’t about to just tell Clint, no matter how eerily comfortable he felt with him. “If it’s none of my business, you can just tell me that. I won’t be upset.” 

“Yeah, I’d rather not get into it. But, um, thanks for asking.” 

“Of course. That’s what friends are for.” There was something very bitter in Clint’s tone and had Bruce had just ten percent more energy, he would’ve asked but as it was, he was running on fumes. That coffee had been just enough to get him through the rest of his class and now he was a dead man walking. 

“Maybe tomorrow though?” he offered, hopeful that Clint would say yes. Maybe he could ask his questions then. “Lunch?” 

“Yeah, sure. I’ll see you then. Get some rest.” He gave Bruce another odd smile and Bruce nodded and mustered up what energy he had left to give him a genuine one. 

  
  


+

  
  


“So is that job offer still just an offer?” Bruce asked, deciding to finally ask the questions he had had on his mental clipboard for weeks. 

Clint put his drink down and looked over at Bruce. He wasn’t in the best mood today. Bruce, for once, had done all the talking on the walk over from campus to Marcia’s. Bruce had even gone to find him when it was time for lunch, spotting him outside talking to one of the other security guards. 

“Uh, no. I declined a while ago.” 

“Oh. Why? I mean, if I can ask.” 

Clint let out a quiet snort. “After my questions on Monday, I think you’re allowed a few personal questions. But, uh, I used to be in that line of work. It’s not a job I’d want again.” 

“What was it?” 

“Um.” He hesitated, unsure. What about his last job could have possibly been so incriminating? Maybe it was a job gone wrong on some sort of covert mission. If Tony had guessed _that_ one right… “Firefighting.” 

“Firefighting?” _Firefighting?_ Really? _That_ was it? “Did you get hurt?” 

Clint tensed, pursing his lips. “No,” he said after a moment. “It just wears on you after a while. All the death.” 

Bruce didn’t pursue that line of thought any more because it did not seem like it would lead them anywhere productive nor good. 

Instead he asked, “Why did you leave the army?” And he knew that was possibly just as loaded of a question and yet he really wanted to know and he was too comfortable with Clint to keep himself from asking. 

“I got hurt. Medical discharge.” 

“What?” Bruce gasped. “What happened? I’m sorry. That’s not appro—”

“It’s okay,” he said, turning his head to the side and lifting up a clear piece of plastic that went into his ear. How had Bruce never ever noticed it before? “We were riding to another location, came under enemy fire. An IED knocked our humvee off the road, I got out and another went off too close. I'm grateful, actually that this is all that happened to me.” 

“Both ears?” Clint nodded and turned his head. “I never noticed.” 

Clint shrugged. “I don’t make it obvious and I mean, with hearing aids I can hear just like everybody else so it’s not like there’s anything to really notice.” 

And then it occurred to Bruce that Clint said he was lucky. And that Clint said ‘ _we_ were riding.’ _And_ that Clint’s ‘we’ was likely him and his unit. 

“Is that how Bucky—” Clint nodded. 

“It was a mess. His arm got hit, I couldn’t hear shit, Steve was unconscious. It was Nat and Sam who dragged us to safety. Steve was in a coma for about two weeks after. Sam and Nat managed to get away with nothing more than a few breaks and cuts. They sent Bucky and I home as soon as we were patched up. Steve they monitored longer after he’d woken and then sent him home too.” 

Bruce listened quietly, not wanting to interrupt as Clint retold the events. Clint looked like he was far away, reliving it but he didn’t seem distressed. Maybe he had made some peace with this traumatic event. Bruce could stand to learn a thing or two. 

“Nat and Sam finished their obligatory duty and then left as soon as they could. The three of us had moved in together but I was deaf, Bucky was learning to live with one arm, and Steve was constantly so disoriented for a while. Always forgetting where he was and how to get places so we couldn’t leave him alone. Ever.” 

He paused and drank his lemonade. 

“Sam and Bucky had spent our entire tour bickering. We thought they hated each other. Wasn’t long until we realized just how wrong we had gotten it,” he said with a laugh. “The last people I _ever_ saw getting married were those two.” 

Bruce laughed. “I’m still putting their relationship together in my head.” 

They ate and chatted, jumping all around different topics. They went back to Bruce and Betty briefly because Clint wanted to know how long he’d be gone and then they drifted back to the army and Clint talked about him, Nat, and Bucky having shooting competitions to see who could hit the farthest and more accurate. Then they went to Bruce’s third book because Clint wanted to know if he had superpowers. 

When Bruce had finally worked up the courage to ask another long-awaited question, his alarm—now much quieter thanks to a few adjustments—went off and he sighed. 

“Always just when we’re getting to the good stuff,” Clint said with a smile, as they both got out their wallets to pay. 

Walking back, Clint stood close to Bruce. Or maybe it was just Bruce thinking he was closer but it felt like it and Bruce wasn’t about to complain because Clint’s tall, broad form blocked a lot of the more biting wind from hitting his face. Bruce even tried to lean into him a little. 

“What are you doing for thanksgiving?” Clint asked and Bruce furrowed his brow. 

“Going to Sam and Bucky’s. Aren’t you too? Sam told me you were coming.” 

“Oh, yeah. Alright, good. See, they treat me like a younger brother so I don’t have the privilege of knowing who else got the invite. I’m just expected to show up and show up on time.”

Bruce laughed. “Well, I think they’re keeping it small and intimate.” _Why did you choose that word?_ “Just them, Steve and Tony, Nat and Okoye, you and me.” 

All couples except the last. That was fine. It would be fine. 

“Ah, yeah. Nice and small. I hope Okoye bakes.” 

“Oh my goodness, me too. Those chai butter cookies of hers are my favorite.” 

“Really?” Clint asked, smiling down at Bruce and if Bruce were a different, braver person he would have, without a doubt in his mind, pushed up on his tiptoes and kissed that beautiful smile right off that equally beautiful man. But as that was not the case, he just smiled back and nodded. “Me too. That’s not good. Now I have to fight for the last one.” 

“And don’t forget I nearly kicked your ass at Nat’s bar.” 

“How could I ever forget the time the world’s softest cinnamon roll nearly kicked my ass?” he asked with a smirk and Bruce rolled his eyes and bumped their shoulders together. 

“Don’t be jealous. I’m sure they’ll make you a blog one day too. You can be the world’s tallest security guard.” 

“Doesn’t exactly have the same ring to it though, does it?” 

“No, but it’s okay being second place. We are _all_ winners.” 

Clint laughed. “Ass,” he said, bumping Bruce’s shoulder back. Bruce felt a sense of accomplishment at having put Clint into a better mood. 

+

  
  


“Oh my god, he’s lovestruck,” Tony said when Bruce entered his apartment with a bottle of wine tucked under his arm. 

Bruce was holding open his tote bag to slide the bottle in, pushing the door open with his back, when Tony spoke and he looked up, confused. 

He looked at Steve who had been on the couch waiting for Tony to get ready and Steve just shrugged, no clue what Tony was on about. 

“What’s going on?” Bruce asked. 

“What do you mean _what’s going on_ ? _You’re_ going on, Banner! Look at you!” Tony said, gesturing wildly as he ran mousse through his hair. “Look at your outfit! Your hair! And are you _humming_?” 

Bruce blushed. So maybe in preparation for seeing Clint tonight he had gone and gotten his haircut. It wasn’t short but neater and he had made sure to get some tips on styling it a little better. He’d gotten a shave while he was at it too. 

He had also chosen an outfit that was slightly more fashion than function. Slim fit dark suit pants and a hunter green button up that he had finally, _finally_ , left unbuttoned at the top, offering just the tiniest peek of tanned skin and chest hair but still not nearly as much as Tony would have wanted had he been styling Bruce. 

He wasn’t wearing beat up, old, dusty converse but rather the nice pair of black Chelsea boots Tony had bought him as a birthday present and he had even sprinkled the tiniest dab of cologne. 

“He’s right. You do know it’s not going to be _just_ you and Clint at dinner, right?” Steve asked, one eyebrow raised and his mouth pulled up into a smirk. Great, now he was getting this from both of them. 

“ _Yes_. Is it a crime to wanna look nice?” 

“No, but for you it’s definitely suspicious behavior warranting a stop and frisk,” Tony remarked and Bruce rolled his eyes. “Maybe we can get Clint to take care of that.” 

Bruce blushed, the tips of his ears heating up. “So sue me if I wanna look nice for the guy I like. I’m having a good day.” 

“Could you please stay with the police analogy? Now we’re on law,” Tony said but Bruce ignored him. 

“And you do. Look nice, that is. The dark green color is really nice against your skin,” Steve told him. 

“Thank you, _Steve,”_ Bruce said, looking pointedly at Tony. 

“I literally complimented you the moment you walked in.” 

“Your idea of a compliment and mine are wildly different, Tones. But thank you.” Tony pretended to tip his hat and Bruce sat down beside Steve to wait on Tony. 

  
  


“It’s nice that Sam and Bucky want us to dress up,” Bruce said as they got out of their Uber. He hoped his hair wouldn’t be flat and awful when they got there because of his hat. He went ahead and pulled it off since they were right outside, just to give himself more time to fix it. “Tony.” 

“On it,” Tony said, lifting his hands to fix Bruce’s hair. “Steve?” 

Steve turned, just about to unlock the door with his key. “Looks good. We ready? Bruce, are _you_ ready?” 

“Yes, but I’d like to ask just one more time that no conspiring happen tonight. Whatever does or does not happen, please just don’t be obvious about it. Please.” 

Bruce had already spent and unnecessary amount of time pondering worst case scenarios for this evening, he didn’t need to add to the list by being afraid that Steve or Tony, more likely Tony, would do something glaringly obvious and let the entire table in on how he felt about Clint. 

“Okay. Promise. No, really. I promise,” Tony assured him. 

“Hey, guys, good to see you,” Sam said, opening the door and welcoming them inside. 

Hugs were exchanged and shoes and jackets removed as they headed inside. Bruce gave Sam the wine and he thanked him. 

The smell that greeted them was heavenly and Steve’s stomach growled loudly. 

“Somebody came with an appetite,” Sam said, clapping a hand to Steve’s back. 

“I know better than to eat before coming over here,” Steve said, rubbing his stomach. “Buck?” Steve called, entirely at home at Sam and Bucky’s as he disappeared into the kitchen where there was already a loud commotion, laughter erupting from the room. 

Bruce paused. He could hear Clint’s laugh clear as day among the others. That deep, raspy sound that he adored so much. His heart skipped a beat, his palms sweaty. He wiped them off on his jeans. Tony laid a hand flat on Bruce’s back between his shoulder blades and gently ushered him forward. 

“Come on, everyone’s in the kitchen,” Sam said, noting the strange behavior but not commenting as he led them into the other room. 

“You got this, Bruce,” Tony reassured him quietly, leaning in to make sure only Bruce heard. Bruce sucked in a breath and nodded. 

“I do,” he told himself, trying to relax. It wasn’t like he hasn’t seen Clint a million times already. It wasn’t like this would be their first meal together. It wasn’t like all of these people—with the exception of Bucky and Okoye—hadn’t been in the same room before. There was nothing new or different about this situation. At least, not new enough for Bruce to panic about—

 _Holy shit_. 

Bruce hoped to hell that that time the words had stayed in his head. 

Clint, Nat, and Okoye were all standing over by the door that led to the dining room on the other end of the decently sized kitchen. Nat and Okoye of course looked gorgeous and flawless as always but _Clint._

Bruce had seen Clint in two types of clothes—the casual stuff he wore to the bar (jeans, t-shirts, pullovers) and his work uniform (flattering but also grey and plain). A type of clothing he had _not_ seen Clint in was semi-formal. 

His hair, usually just a gentle mess of soft dirty-blond waves was brushed back and styled nicely. He was totally clean shaven and, although he had only ever seen him with five o’clock shadow at the most, the change was noteworthy. 

He was in a well-fitting pair of slate grey trousers and a lilac button-up that almost made his blue eyes look indigo. 

Bruce wasn’t sure if his mouth was open or not, if he was breathing or not, or even if he was possibly drooling, but he knew he had been quiet for far too long. 

“Uh,” he began, tearing his eyes away from Clint, “hey, everyone.” He looked at Nat and Okoye and then to Bucky who smirked and raised the glass of wine he was already drinking. 

Bucky was stood by the stove with an apron wrapped around his entirely black ensemble, finishing off what looked like a sauce of some kind. 

“Well, gang’s all here,” Bucky said. “Let’s eat.” 

Sam pulled Clint through to the dining area and Tony and Steve followed. Tony was making an effort not to leave Bruce alone but Nat and Okoye had already grabbed him by either arm and were walking with him. 

“Don’t you look dapper,” Okoye said, looking Bruce up and down. 

He smiled. “Thanks. You both look beautiful.” 

“We know,” Nat said, laughing when Okoye reached around and flicked her arm. “But thank you for noticing, Bruce. You know, it’s really nice having you and Tony join the group for real now.” 

“Took you long enough,” Okoye said. “I mean, what was the hold up? Did you think we didn’t like you?” 

“I don’t know,” Bruce said with a shrug. He had always thought they were more situational friends, meaning that they were bar friends but that again was just another piece of evidence of Bruce’s severely lacking social skills. “But we’re here now.” 

“We are,” Nat said with a smile. “We’ve got all our boys under one roof.” 

Bruce was still smiling when they reached the table and he wasn’t surprised in the slightest to find that the only available seat that wouldn’t split up Nat and Okoye was beside Clint. 

He plopped down and took a breath before turning to him, preparing himself for the absolutely breathtaking being that was Clint Barton tonight. Bruce was so far gone over this guy now that it wasn’t even funny. It was mostly sad but definitely not funny. 

“Hello,” Bruce said, giving him his best smile. 

Clint turned to him and Bruce felt his heart thin loudly in his chest as a smile pulled at Clint’s lips, leaving him with little lines around his mouth and at the corners of his eyes. Bruce knew this man laughed a lot from what he had observed at the bar but even so, those lines were all the evidence he needed that this was a happy little ray of sunshine beside him. 

“Hey you,” Clint said. Was _hey you_ incredibly cute or was it just Bruce? Was it romantically charged or was _that_ just Bruce? _Hey you_ didn’t feel like something one casually said to greet a friend. It felt like _more_. 

“Long time no see,” Bruce said, passing dishes around the table, scooping himself out a serving as he went. He handed Clint the mashed potatoes and their fingers touched and Bruce did everything in his power to keep himself from tensing or, worse, dropping the potatoes. 

Clint took the dish without a reaction and Bruce let out a small sigh. A part of him had hoped Clint would be just as flustered by the accidental touch. It occurred to him then that, apart from their first incident at the bar together, Bruce and Clint had never really touched. 

They shook hands when they first met, they shoved each other. Bruce had once laid his hand on top of Clint’s when he’d zoned out but he quickly removed it and doubted Clint even remembered. They didn’t hug, there were no casual touches or accidental brushes. 

There was none of that romance novel bullshit of Bruce getting a stray curl tucked behind his ear. He had never tripped only to be caught by Clint and find himself in the perfect position to kiss him. They had never reached for the same thing and had their fingers overlap until now and yet… nothing. 

“I was gonna say the same thing. We work in the same place. Don’t be a stranger,” Clint teased, pulling Bruce out of his depressing thoughts. 

“I’ll do my best not to be.” 

Okoye, Bucky, and Tony dominated conversation after that, being the loudest at the table. The topics ranged from how a certain dish was prepared to the latest movie or tv show someone had watched and then would circle back to some cool new event or activity someone had seen and thought the group should go try out. 

Steve became more active on that topic, having seen some pop up inside market in Williamsburg that apparently wasn’t too far away from a temporary art exhibit that he’d been dying to go to. Apparently Steve was something of an artist himself and when no one else would go with him, Bruce piped up, always happy for a quiet, pensive activity and he did enjoy art. 

“Thanks, Bruce. I’ll text you the details.” 

“Oh, me too,” Clint said and all eyes turned to him. 

Bucky and Steve said, at the same time, “You wanna go?” 

Clint snorted and seemed to be trying to play off their utter shock and disbelief that he would want to go to an art exhibit. 

“Yeah, sounds like a fun afternoon. What? I can be cultured,” he defended himself, crossing his arms over his chest, his jaw set stubbornly and Bruce honestly had never seen anything so cute before. 

“The only culture you know about is the bacteria growing on your old leftovers, Clint,” Nat said, earning a snicker from Sam. 

“Rude, Natasha,” Clint said. “Anyway, I mean it. Send me the link and let’s set a date and go.” 

Steve eyed him and then said, “Alright. Fine.” He took out his phone and sent it to both Clint and Bruce. “But if you make one joke about any remotely sexual painting, I’m tossing you out on your ass.” 

“I’ll be on my best behavior. Promise.” 

“In the spirit of doing things that aren’t Steve’s art thing,” Bucky said, grabbing Sam’s phone because it was closest and unlocking it. “We should make a group chat. It’ll just make organizing stuff so much easier. I’m still proud of Sam for organizing this, getting all of you ingrates here on time _and_ in the requested clothing.” 

“It was not easy work. You two are such a hassle,” Sam said, pointing first at Natasha and then at Tony. “No one would’ve cared if you’d both worn red.” 

“Would so,” Tony argued.

“Good comeback, babe. You really told him.” Steve teased and Tony pouted, deciding to angrily eat his food while Natasha just smiled, just happy that she had won that discussion and was the one in the red dress. 

“Since I have all your numbers,” Bucky said, “I’ll make the chat. Any suggestions on a name? Ah, I’ll just surprise you all when you see it.” He typed away on the phone and then Bruce’s pinged and he picked it up to read: _Sam Wilson has added you to the group chat ‘Family 💕.’_

“Um… Buck? You feeling alright? Had a little too much to drink?” Steve asked. 

“Maybe I’m just feeling emotional, Rogers. Is that not allowed?” 

“No,” Steve said flatly and Bucky snorted. 

It shouldn’t have mattered as much as it did. It shouldn’t have been affecting Bruce as much as it was. It should not have been as incredibly touching as it was but dammit it Bruce didn’t get choked up at the thought of these people around him, these people who he liked so very much, liking him back. 

And of course the one he wished would like him but just a smidge more than everyone else. 

It occurred to Bruce then that he didn’t even know if Clint liked men. Sure, he’d been at that gay bar but that didn’t necessarily even mean he liked men. Maybe Bucky just brought him there because they knew the bartender and Clint wasn’t a jerk or so hung up on his masculinity that he couldn’t go to a gay bar and still enjoy himself. 

Or maybe Clint _was_ into guys. Or maybe a person’s genitalia or body didn’t factor in at all. Bruce knew there must be some attraction to men otherwise Steve would have shut this down the moment he found out. Bruce knew he would’ve because Steve was kind like that. 

Even so, Bruce most certainly wasn’t capable of the level of narcissism required to think that _anything_ about himself could appeal to Clint. Not his face, not his body, and most _definitely_ not his personality. 

Quirky and awkward might hold the attention of a bunch of college students but it wasn’t exactly swipe right material, was it? 

The more Bruce thought about how he paled physically when compared to Clint, the further into his own head he went. Everyone at the table was so out of Bruce’s league. Bruce wasn’t even _in_ a league. He was more like the reject pile. 

He retreated further into his own head, the conversation at the table loud now as Nat and Sam bickered playfully about something and Bucky and Okoye teased them as they did. 

It was nice to have the noise, it made it easier for Bruce to settle in quietly and enjoy himself but also to not focus so much on Clint beside him. In fact, all of his thoughts about Clint were dialed down from deafening and intense, to soft and muted when he could pull away like this and not be hardwired into the present. 

He didn’t feel the urge to stare at Clint. He didn’t want to kiss Clint. He didn’t want to hold Clint’s hand under the table. 

As strongly. 

Oh, he still very much wanted to do all of those things—and the last thing was very domesticated and new—but he didn’t feel them like an itch he needed to scratch. They were more like a dull ache, like early onset of sore muscles after working out. Completely manageable. 

“You okay?” 

Bruce looked up from his food towards Tony who was talking now, Steve and Sam jumping in at random spots to argue something or add a crazy suggestion. Bruce felt like he might have just picked up Tony saying something about wearing a bright red dress to his own wedding. 

“You can’t wear red to a wedding,” Sam said. 

“Can and will. White is for pure little virgins and I am anything but,” Tony countered. 

“Bruce,” Clint said and Bruce turned to him. “Are you okay?” 

Oh. It was _Clint_ that asked. 

“Yeah, I’m fine.” 

“You sure?” Bruce nodded. “You’re awfully quiet.” 

“I’m always quiet.” 

“Well, then, you’re even quieter than usual.” 

Bruce motioned towards the others vaguely with a piece of cornbread and said, “I’m just enjoying the company. I don’t have to talk to do that.” 

Bruce felt like Clint wanted to say something else but he was suddenly being asked to help bring out the dessert by Bucky who had stood and was making his way to the kitchen. Clint stood, his eyes sliding to Bruce’s for the briefest of seconds, and then he headed to the kitchen. 

Tony leaned over and, while it seemed that Okoye and Nat were in their own private conversation, he tapped Bruce’s shoulder and gave a thumbs up and a thumbs down, waiting for Bruce’s response. 

Bruce gave back a half-hearted thumbs up. For the most part he _was_ enjoying himself and he really didn’t feel the need to always be talking to enjoy himself. He could just observe, watch his friends be happy and laugh, add his two cents when he felt like it and this was how he worked around them and they all knew it, which was why only Clint had asked what was wrong. 

“I have made apple pie and pumpkin pie,” Bucky said, holding the serving utensils while Clint carried the pies. 

“And I have made chocolate and pecan,” Okoye said, resting hers on the table as well. 

“And I have decided to try them all,” Clint announced, earning a laugh around the table. 

“I’m taking Barton’s lead,” Tony said, holding his plate out.

Everyone got themselves a healthy serving of dessert because if there was one thing everyone at the table had in common, it was a love of food. Bruce even got a small slice of each pie and a scoop of vanilla ice cream, eating happily. 

“These are all amazing. I can’t pick a favorite,” Bruce said, sounds of agreement going around the table. 

“That’s too bad,” Okoye said, “because if you would like more of my chai butter cookies in the future, you will say _mine_ are better.” 

Bucky snorted. “And if you want to not get kicked out of my house, you’ll choose mine.” 

Sam and Natasha rolled their eyes. 

“Can you two just agree that you both won this time around?” Nat asked. Oh, so it must have been a thing with them. 

Bucky and Okoye looked at each other and then Bucky shook his head and Okoye said, “Nope.” 

They continued to bicker, which Bruce had come to learn was a thing with this group—everyone got their chance to bicker with someone and honestly, he could definitely get used to that. He had become a champion bickerer ever since meeting Tony. 

When the bickering subsided and people started to get painfully full, the couples kind of… broke off into their own little bubbles. Bruce couldn’t even be annoyed at it because it was all very sweet to watch.

Okay, so maybe Bucky and Sam were very cute together and maybe Bruce could see how it worked now. He watched them continue to talk in their own little bubble for a while, Sam feeding himself and Bucky a bite of pie but they weren’t disgusting about it. In fact, it was probably something they were used to doing seeing as Bucky was already holding his drink, leaving him no free hand to eat. 

Sam’s other hand was behind Bucky’s back, threaded in his hair as he scratched lightly and Bucky was looking at him with adoration in his eyes that Bruce didn’t even know he was capable of. 

Bruce turned his attention to Steve and Tony next. Steve had let some ice cream fall onto Tony’s hand when Tony reached into his plate to steal his slice of chocolate pie. Tony scrunched his nose and pretended to wipe the ice cream off on Steve’s shirt, Steve wiggling out of the way and threatening to sit on Tony. 

Tony leaned in and whispered something to Steve and Bruce was one hundred percent sure it was dirty because Steve’s cheeks immediately went cherry red _and_ because Bruce just knew Tony. He was also about ninety-eight percent sure he knew _exactly_ what Tony had said. 

Nat and Okoye were more relaxed, like Sam and Bucky. Natasha had her head rested on Okoye’s shoulder, and Okoye’s lips were pressed to her hair, whispering something Bruce couldn’t pick up while her hand gently caressed up and down Nat’s arm. Nat’s eyes closed and she smiled. 

“Want me to feed you a bite?” Clint asked. 

Bruce knew he hadn’t but it felt like Clint had pressed the speaker end of a megaphone to his ear and screamed those words into it as loudly as possible. Bruce visibly startled, turning to him wide-eyed and confused. 

“W-what?” 

Clint laughed. “I’m kidding, obviously.” 

“ _Oh!_ ” Bruce breathed out in relief, a hand to his chest as he tried to force his heart to slow down. And then his words sunk in. 

_Obviously_. Oh. 

“Right. _Obviously_ ,” Bruce laughed weakly, not even sure what emotion he was trying to cover up now. The nervousness at having thought Clint wanted to feed him like the _married couple_ were doing or the disappointment that he actually did not want to do that. Emotions were so difficult, why did anyone even need them? 

There was a change in Clint’s face. One he couldn’t quite translate into something understandable for him but it was there and Bruce didn’t actually like how it looked. It made him look just the tiniest bit sad. 

“They’re kind of sappy, huh?” Bruce asked, trying to reignite conversation after his own stupidity had almost ended Clint’s attempt. 

“Very,” Clint said, taking another bite of pie. “But also sweet.” 

“True,” Bruce agreed with a smile. “By the way, you look really nice tonight. The purple’s nice on you.” 

“Yeah? Aw, thanks. It’s my favorite color. The green’s nice on you.” 

“Thank you,” Bruce said, Clint’s words making him feel warm. 

Once dinner was over and they had cleared up and brought everything to the kitchen (some also packing themselves some take home containers), they gathered in the living room. Bucky, Steve, and Tony fell onto one couch together to talk. Sam, Okoye, and Nat on another. There was a two-person futon on the other side that was still empty and Clint dropped onto it, looking over and patting the space beside him for Bruce. 

Bruce cleared his throat and went over, sitting carefully so as to keep some space between them. 

“I’m so full I almost can’t breathe. What I wouldn’t do for a pair of sweats,” Clint complained, leaning back onto his elbows to give his tight stomach some relief from his unrelenting trousers. 

“Suck it up, Barton. It’s nice to see you in formal wear for once in your life,” Bucky said and Clint rolled his eyes. 

He turned to Bruce. “I’ve worn a suit before. This is not my first time. I wore a suit to their wedding and, uh, yeah.” He scrunched up his face and looked away for a moment, running a hand down his face. Bruce swore he saw Bucky and Nat exchange a glance and then look at Clint but maybe he was just reading too much into it. 

“Don’t worry. I hate suits. My agent makes me wear them for interviews but I usually take the jacket off right before so she can’t say anything,” Bruce said, nudging Clint with his arm. 

Clint turned back and gave Bruce a half-hearted smile. Something was wrong and it had started earlier in the night and was fading in and out of existence now and Bruce was no closer to figuring it out now than he was then. 

“And you’ll wear one to the wedding,” Clint said matter-of-factly. “You got some grand gesture planned? Gonna burst in and yell ‘I object’ or something?” 

Bruce frowned in confusion. “No… no. I’m just going to go, talk to her a bit after the ceremony. Maybe stay a while longer if the food is good.” 

“Oh. So this isn’t one of those ‘win her back’ scenarios?” 

“What?” Bruce laughed. “No, no way. I’m not—that would be _awful_ of me. Not to mention that it would never work anyway.” Hadn’t he told Clint that he didn’t love Betty anymore? Did he not believe him? Or was Bruce imagining that conversation? 

“Huh,” he said, chewing the inside of his cheek as he thought. “I guess from the way you’ve described it, it just sounded like an awful lot of stress and anxiety for someone you weren’t trying to win back.” 

Yeah, that part could be true but Bruce was nothing if not always stressing himself out over small things. And well, this wasn’t a _small_ thing, per se, but it certainly was not deserving of all the restless nights he’d had lately. 

“Well, that’s true but she does still mean something to me. I don’t love her but she’s important, you know? First relationship, first love, a lot of firsts with her. I’m sure you get it. Don’t you have that one person in your past that you’d still go help if they asked?” 

Bruce had turned to face Clint in the middle of his sentence and he saw it this time. He saw the moment the light went out of his eyes and his easy, comfortable smile turned into a hard, pained line. He saw the way Clint tried to force it to stay casual but was failing and before Bruce could ask what he’d done wrong, Clint’s smile was even more strained and he was standing. 

“I'll be right back. Bathroom.” 

This time Bruce was one hundred percent sure he saw Nat and Bucky exchange a look and after some silent discussion, Nat got up and headed in the direction Clint had gone. 

Bruce sat on the futon, confused and suddenly feeling very cold without Clint’s presence. He looked over at Tony who was watching him and Bruce shrugged. He didn’t know what he’d done but ‘bathroom’ was definitely a lie. 

  
  


After a while, Okoye and Sam grabbed Bruce and pulled him over onto the couch between them to chat, Clint came out again, just poking his head around the corner and dammit if his eyes weren’t red. What the hell did Bruce _do_? 

“Hey guys, it’s been awesome as always. I think I’m gonna call it a night, though. See you all around,” Clint said, waving to them, that same put-on smile on his face. 

Everyone gave him a smile in return and said their parting words. Bucky got up and walked him to the door along with Nat who had yet to return. 

Clint’s early departure spread a general feeling of cheerlessness amongst the group. Especially among all those who must know what was going on. When Bucky and Nat came back, they looked drained, a little pale and tired. Nat just stared at the floor while Sam and Okoye tried to keep the conversation going. Bucky sat down beside Steve again, his arm along the back of the couch, and stared into a middle distance, his gaze seemingly unfocused. 

The happy, family spirit that had dominated the evening was gone in an instant and in its place was a thick gloom. 

It wasn’t long before Nat and Okoye decided to call it a night. Bruce, Tony, and Steve followed suit and they made their way out to their Uber. 

The ride home was mostly silent. All three of them watched out the window at the passing city. Tony held one of Steve’s hands, absently playing with his fingers and for a while Bruce watched that. Such an innocent, intimate touch. It said so much while being so little. 

Bruce sucked in a sharp breath, feeling actual pain at how much he wanted to do that with Clint. He felt the ache low in his chest, right behind his sternum like an actual _physical_ pain. 

“What happened?” Tony asked and Bruce startled at the sudden sound. 

“I honestly don’t know. He asked about the wedding and why I wanted to go if not to win her back. I said she’s just an important person in my life and then I asked if he had someone important.” 

Steve tensed. Or at least reacted in some way because Tony turned to Steve the moment the words left Bruce’s mouth. 

“Steve, honey, what is it?” 

“It’s still not my place, Tony.” 

“Oh,” Bruce said, his theories confirmed. “He _did_ have someone.” 

“Bruce—”

“Please. Just tell me if that’s what I did wrong. I’d really rather not do that to him again.” 

Steve sighed heavily. “Yes. He did.” 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint: can I come over? 
> 
> Bruce stared at the message for a solid minute. His brain had stopped completely and if he were a cartoon character, he was sure sparks would be flying all around his head or giant question marks. 
> 
> Bruce: to my house? 

Bruce spent the majority of Friday morning in bed seeing as it was a holiday. Once he was finally up, he graded papers and quizzes, carefully logging results into the school’s learning management site where the students could see their grades, assignments, and notifications. 

In between papers he made himself coffee and eggs, trying to do better about taking care of himself lately and also doing anything to keep his mind from wandering to last night and Clint’s sudden, emotional departure. He was also trying not to fixate too much on Steve’s words. 

Clint had someone. There had been someone else. Was he still in love with them? Was it a bad breakup? Was Clint trying to win them back? 

He shook his head gently. 

“Not productive, Bruce,” he told himself and scooped his eggs out onto his plate, returning to his table. 

Around one that was finished and he turned to look at the neglected notebook on his writing desk. He had been given the green light to continue the story, to use Clint’s likeness, to write Ronin and yet he just hadn’t found the time to focus enough to get any writing done. For once, though, he actually  _ felt _ like it. 

He stood to grab the notebook when his computer dinged and he turned to the screen to see an email notification from Betty. He hesitated, not sure if he wanted to open it or not. Maybe she had changed her mind and didn’t want him there after all. Maybe her father had found out and was threatening Bruce if he did show. But then again, it had been years. Surely, Thaddeus had realized that if Bruce had wanted to reach out behind his back, he would have by now. 

Bruce sat down again, slowly clicking on his email icon. When it popped up, the subject line read:  _ Re: Late RSVP.  _ It was just a reply to Bruce’s email. Maybe there was something she wanted from New York or new information on attire. 

He opened it. 

_ Hi, Bruce,  _ it read. 

As he continued reading, he relaxed. He even smiled. It was just a ‘how are you?’ email. In their last few correspondences, they had only exchanged the necessary information about the wedding, Bruce and Tony’s arrival, and accommodation. Bruce had figured that perhaps keeping it that way was best, staying very formal about it all, but now as he read her short paragraph on what she had been up to and where she worked, he felt relief. He was glad that she had reached out again. 

He clicked reply and began typing out his own reply, detailing the last few years in brief sentences. He told her about Brazil, knowing that she would love that, and he told her about the university where he worked. She had already admitted to watching his interviews and Bruce was pleasantly surprised to find that that didn’t give him butterflies or any other kind of reaction beyond ‘aw, that’s nice.’ It was nothing like Clint teasingly calling him small or complimenting his shirt. 

He spent another ten minutes typing out a response and after hitting send, he made his way over to his notebook and opened up his word document, scrolling to where he left off. He rested his fingers on the keys, tapping them lightly and enjoying the sound and then he started writing. 

It was a solid two hours before Bruce stopped, on a roll for the first time in so long. He was another two chapters in by the time he finally took a break and the only reason he did that was because he was in desperate need of the bathroom. 

When he came back, he noticed his phone screen lit up. It was the group chat Bucky had made. Sam sent pictures that he had taken from last night. Bruce opened it quickly, knowing that there would, without a doubt in his mind, be pictures of himself and Clint talking. 

And there were. Quite a few. 

Bruce smiled as he scrolled through them all, lingering much longer on the ones of himself and Clint. 

You know, maybe… maybe they didn’t look too mismatched. Maybe they could almost look like a couple. Bruce was surprised to realize that he even thought he looked good. Maybe Tony had a point about dressing better. 

He liked the contrast of himself beside Clint. Dark hair versus light hair, tanned skin versus paler skin. Even their eyes—because Sam had really zoomed in on some of these and honestly, Bruce didn’t even remember him  _ taking _ them—were nicely contrasted, dark brown and navy blue. 

There was one picture that caught Bruce’s attention more than the rest. Bruce was looking down at his plate, trying to decide which bite of pie he wanted next. He remembered the moment because he had wondered if he should ask Clint just for an excuse to talk to him but then decided against it. 

And Clint was watching him. His face was completely turned towards Bruce and there was a soft smile on his lips. If Bruce were insane, he would have admitted to himself that it almost,  _ almost, _ looked like the way Bucky had watched Sam. But as it were, Bruce wasn’t crazy and realized that he was most likely just reading into it but there was still no denying the fact that Clint was watching him. 

Bruce swiped out of the pictures and went to the group information, scrolling down until he found Clint’s number, the only one he didn’t have saved already. He set up the contact and then opened the empty messages, pausing as he thought about what he wanted to say. 

**Bruce:** hey, it’s Bruce

He hesitated again, not sure if he wanted to let Clint know that Steve had given Bruce personal information about him without his permission. 

**Bruce:** I know what I said upset you and I’m sorry. It wasn’t my intention 

He waited for those grey bubbles to show up but they never did. The message registered as delivered but not read. Bruce waited another five minutes and then closed the app, determined not to fixate. Instead he opened his music app, connected to his speaker, and blasted it. Their other two neighbors had gone away for the holiday and Bruce knew Steve and Tony had plans for the day. 

He shuffled his music and turned it up to drown out everything else while he wrote some more, the ideas and words coming to him so easily, his fingers only ever hesitating when he searched for a certain word. 

  
  


It wasn’t until Saturday morning that Clint responded. Bruce was already up, had had his coffee and breakfast, and even done fifteen minutes of yoga from a YouTube video. 

Despite the uncertainty going on with Clint, despite all of the unknowns that would come with the wedding, he was in a good mood and had woken up feeling rested for the first time in a while. He’d managed to get out another four chapters yesterday and was up to a grand total of seventeen chapters. The book was nowhere near finished but he knew exactly where he wanted it to go and how to get there. 

Clint’s message didn’t ruin Bruce’s good mood but it did bring him down a notch or two. After closing the app yesterday, he’d been so focused on writing that he had almost completely forgotten about the text. Let alone the fact that Clint had never responded. 

Bruce picked up his phone, a coffee in his other hand, and he slid open the message. 

**Clint:** Hey, Bruce 

**Clint:** you have nothing to be sorry for, you did nothing wrong

**Clint:** I was having a bad week, probably should’ve stayed home Thursday 

**Bruce:** I’m sorry to hear that but I’m still glad you came. It was nice talking to you. Like always 

Clint typed for a long time and then sent a smiley face. 

**Clint:** thanks 

**Bruce:** do you wanna talk about it? 

**Clint:** not really, no 

**Bruce:** that’s fine. Are you talking to someone about it at least? 

**Clint:** yeah, Nat and Bucky 

**Bruce:** alright, well I’m glad 

Neither of them typed for a minute and Bruce put his phone down, assuming the conversation was over for now. He headed to the kitchen to find a snack and was washing off some grapes when his phone dinged again. 

**Clint:** can I come over? 

Bruce stared at the message for a solid minute. His brain had stopped completely and if he were a cartoon character, he was sure sparks would be flying all around his head or giant question marks. 

**Bruce:** to my house? 

**Clint:** uh, yeah? I’m mean obviously you can say no 

**Clint:** ugh I hate texting bc I can’t tell how exactly you asked me that 

**Bruce:** just surprised, is all 

**Bruce:** but sure. I’ll text you the address

As soon as Bruce hit the send button and Clint had his address, the panic set in. He looked around his apartment. It wasn’t  _ dirty _ but was it clean enough? It kind of smelled like the bacon he had cooked earlier but that could easily be fixed with a candle since opening the windows and letting in that godforsaken ice wind was a no-go. 

But was a candle… weird? Would Clint wonder why Bruce had lit a candle in the middle of the day? He lit it anyway, reminding himself to blow it out in ten minutes. 

**Clint:** cool, I’ll be there in twenty 

Bruce didn’t let his mind dwell on why Clint might want to come over because the simple fact that he  _ was _ coming over was already making his heart race. He lifted his arms, sweating, and did a smell check. He hadn’t bathed after his yoga. Maybe he should jump in the shower quickly? 

“Oh god,” he said out loud, taking a moment to breathe. He sat his hands on his hips and breathed slowly in and out. “This is  _ not _ as big of a deal as you’re making it out to be,” he told himself. 

He put away his dishes, lit the candle, and headed to the bathroom for a quick shower. He stood in front of the mirror once he was out and applied some of the hair products his barber had recommended for him, running it through with his fingers. He was going for tidy but trying not to make it obvious that he had specifically done his hair for Clint’s visit. In the end it didn’t matter because no matter what he could not tame the curls, they had a life and mind of their own. 

He sighed and went to get dressed, going for comfort today instead of style but it wasn’t totally neglected. He pulled on a pair of dark purple sweats and a soft green t-shirt and while Tony would probably say the colors clashed terribly, Bruce was warm and cosy. 

And Clint liked him in green. Or at least had complimented the green. And purple was Clint’s favorite color. So win-win. 

He finished tidying up just as the intercom rang. He buzzed Clint up and ran his hands through his hair one more time, exhaling slowly and closing his eyes. 

There was a knock and he opened the door. 

“Hey,” Bruce said, smiling up at Clint. 

Clint looked tired. He looked how Bruce had felt on Wednesday after his talk with Tony. He looked like he needed a solid sixteen hours of sleep and then maybe a nap. He looked like all of that and yet when Bruce greeted him, he smiled and this time it touched his eyes. 

“Hi,” he said, still smiling as he walked in. Bruce stepped aside only to suddenly find himself being pulled forward as Clint grabbed him and gave him a hug, his arms wrapped tightly around him. 

“Oh,” he said softly, his arms automatically coming up to wrap around Clint, stroking his back absently. 

Bruce could’ve stayed like that for a lifetime. He felt so safe in Clint’s embrace, so secure. Clint’s strong arms were holding him comfortably and he could feel Clint’s breath on his shoulder. He could smell that strong, earthly smell that always came from Clint. It reminded Bruce of the camping trips he’d taken with his cousin upstate. He was always the first one up, and he’d go outside to enjoy the quiet of the forest at 7am. 

That’s what Clint smelled like. He smelled like a gorgeous fall morning in the forest. He smelled a little wild but ultimately comforting. 

Bruce closed his eyes, feeling himself relaxing and he only barely stopped himself from letting out a sigh. 

After a moment Clint pulled away but Bruce could have used another hour of that. That was better than some of the sleep he’d gotten lately. It was brief and yet it still felt like the warmest, safest hug he had ever received. 

“Sorry, I guess I needed a hug,” Clint said. 

Bruce shut the door, still in a dazed state, and turned. It occurred to Bruce then that Clint’s touch hadn’t made him flinch or tense or want to move away. Quite the opposite in fact. It seemed Clint, too, made his list of exceptions. 

“No worries. I think I did too.” 

“Oh. Good. Well, not  _ good _ that you needed one but happy to help. Nice place,” Clint said, turning away suddenly. He took off his shoes and headed to the couch. He sat and looked over at Bruce, still smiling. Bruce smiled back, just the tiniest bit nervous as the hug wore off. 

Now that Bruce had gotten everything done and Clint was finally here, he could start focusing on  _ why _ he was here. Although he was still reeling from that hug. Bruce didn’t think he was touch-starved, not with Tony around, but maybe just maybe he was in dire need of intimacy more than he realized. 

He shook his head lightly to dislodge that thought and went back to Clint’s impromptu visit. He had just said that he was talking to Nat and Bucky about whatever was going on. So why would he come to  _ Bruce’s _ house? 

“Something to drink?” 

“Uh, yeah. Just water. Thanks.” 

What were they supposed to do now? Just talk? Why hadn’t Bruce thought this through  _ before _ saying yes?  _ Before  _ sending Clint his address? 

“Here you go,” he said, coming back over with the glass. He’d considered making himself another coffee but he was worked up enough as it was. He sat down at the end of the couch, leaving a cushion between them. “So, um—”

“Yeah,” Clint laughed softly. “Doing first, thinking later is kind of my strong suit. I dunno. I guess I just didn’t want to spend the day alone.” 

“I thought you said you were with Nat and Bucky.” 

“No, just talking to them. Texting actually but Nat and Okoye are driving down to DC to visit a friend and Bucky and Sam… I dunno. I love them but I didn’t want to be around a couple today.” 

“I know the feeling,” Bruce said, which was exactly why he wasn’t with Tony and Steve while they went to find Tony a suit for the wedding. 

“Look, if you already had plans today—”

“Oh, no,” Bruce laughed. “This was it for me. I was just having a lazy Saturday, thinking about doing some writing but before you texted I was just gonna eat these grapes, listen to music, and maybe zone out for an hour.” 

Clint laughed, seeming caught off guard by Bruce’s honesty. Maybe saying that you were going to zone out for an hour wasn’t the most neurotypical activity but hey, Bruce wasn’t any kind of typical. 

“That actually sounds great. Room for two?” 

“Be my guest. Grapes?” he asked, grabbing the bowl off the coffee table and putting it on the cushion between them. Clint reached in to grab some and this time Bruce moved his hand out of the way in time to avoid another finger collision. 

“So who’s up?” 

“What?” 

“The music. Who’s playing? What’s your style?” 

“Oh, uh,” Bruce said, grabbing his phone and connecting it to his Bluetooth speaker again. He clicked shuffle and waited. The music started and Bruce immediately recognized the song. He had never been ashamed of his music taste because honestly if someone didn’t like Queen or Bowie then why was he even hanging out with them? 

“It’s been  _ way _ too long since I heard this song,” Clint said, leaning his head back and popping a grape into his mouth. His foot was tapping to the beat of  _ Radio Ga Ga  _ and he hummed along as the vocals began and Freddie filled the room. “Of course you listen to  _ Queen _ .” 

Normally Bruce would have ignored a statement like that but not today. Today he was on his turf, he was comfortable and he felt like asking questions. And honestly, he was even open to be  _ asked _ questions. It was still a very good day, all things considered. 

“What do you mean?” 

“Huh?” It was obvious that Clint didn’t think Bruce had heard that. “Oh, well.” He paused, seeming indecisive. He turned to Bruce, his eyes warm and intense. “I just really like you.” 

Bruce wasn’t sure if he was still conscious because he felt incredibly faint. He felt like he was floating above his body as Clint’s words crossed the short space and made it to his ears. Was this it? Had Tony had it right all along? Was Bruce right to assume that Clint’s actions were flirtatious sometimes? Was Clint really about to—

But then Clint kept talking. 

“And it’s such a shame that all that time was wasted not hanging out because it just seems like we have a lot in common. I’m really glad we got the chance to be friends.” 

Oh. It was a platonic ‘like’. Cool. Totally cool.  _ So _ cool. Cool and fun. 

Bruce tried to recover from the devastating blow that was Clint not actually confessing his feelings for him but rather just giving him a nice ol’  _ you’re a good bud _ compliment. 

“Me too. Lunch at Marcia’s has definitely been my highlight of the semester.” 

Clint smiled and tossed a few more grapes in his mouth, humming happily along to the song. He seemed so comfortable there in Bruce’s apartment, on his couch, eating his grapes and listening to  _ Queen _ . It felt like it was something they did every week as opposed to the first time ever. And though Bruce had been anxious during the wait and in the first few moments, he realized now that it had all but faded and he was just… enjoying the company. 

Clint was easy. He didn’t require entertainment or constant conversation. And even when they did talk, Bruce was accustomed to how they interacted and the things they talked about. It felt natural now. 

“Hey,” Bruce said, and Clint turned to him again. “Can I ask you something?” 

“Of course,” he said, still tapping his foot to the beat, his fingers tapping on his thigh as well. 

“You said once that the first book, the one about me, you liked the best.” 

“Yeah.” 

“Why? What about it appealed?” 

“Well… everything. I just… I could—I  _ can _ —relate to a lot of what the character, or, uh,  _ you _ , went through,” Clint said, his voice suddenly much quieter. 

“Oh. I’m—”

Bruce cut himself off and Clint smiled knowingly. “You see? The words  _ I’m sorry _ just kind of tumble out of their own accord, don’t they?” 

“Yeah. Sorry.” 

“Don’t apologize.” 

“You say that to me a lot.” 

“Because you need to be reminded a lot.” 

“What makes you say that?” 

“Because I know where the urge comes from. To apologize even when there’s no reason to, to want to make sure no one is mad at you, to try and appease everyone. I told you I relate. My father was a… a—”

“Monster?” 

“Yes.” Bruce frowned and Clint continued. “You know, same story, different wrapping. Dad liked the bottle and not the kids. One day my brother and I came home and nobody was there. We started getting scared after three hours. Then the police showed up. Told us dad had been drunk behind the wheel and mom was with him. He’d wrapped the car around a tree. No survivors.” 

“Oh god, I didn’t think we had  _ that _ much in common,” Bruce said, the color drained from his face and his stomach a little queasy. 

“Ah, yeah,” Clint said, nodding sadly and Bruce paused, tilting his head to the side in confusion. 

“Wait, why do you know about that? That wasn’t in the book.” 

Clint’s ears went red first and then it began creeping up his neck to his cheeks. He cleared his throat and said, “I, um… I googled you. The article is one of the first things that comes up.” 

“Oh,” Bruce said because what else did one say after finding out the man they liked googled them and the first result was ‘crazy man kills wife and child watches’?There really wasn’t anything to say to that. 

“And well, I googled you way back in the beginning when I found out who you were. I just wanted to confirm that Nat wasn’t pulling my leg so I wanted a picture of you. But then I saw it and, well, yeah. That’s rough.” 

“Yours too,” Bruce said quietly. 

They stared at each other in silence for a few moments. It was a look of understanding. They had something in common that was terrible, absolutely awful, but finally they had someone else who understood how it felt, who understood the kind of pain and anger it was. 

Bruce’s lips quirked up in a tiny smile and Clint mirrored it. “I’m sorr—” He cut himself off when Clint narrowed his eyes, the scolding imminent. “I mean, I didn’t intend to steer the conversation in that direction.” 

“It’s okay. We’re friends. It’s about time we unlock each other’s childhood trauma,” he said, his smile still genuine and Bruce was grateful for it. “What did you do...  _ afterwards _ ?” 

“Came to live here with my cousin and my aunt.” 

“Ah,” Clint said and Bruce wondered if he was remembering the bold-faced lie Bruce had originally told him. That he’d moved to New York when his father’s job transferred them. 

“And you?” 

“In and out of foster homes with my brother until we aged out,” he said with a shrug that Bruce understood meant ‘it is what it is.’ “I didn’t know what else to do so I joined the army.” 

“And your brother?” 

“Barney? Who the hell knows. Probably passed out on someone’s lawn,” Clint said dismissively so Bruce followed up with a question he knew made sense for them. 

“Do you miss him?” 

“Only once every day,” he answered quietly, looking over at Bruce, something in his eyes that Bruce couldn’t quite comprehend. “So no siblings?” 

“No. Closest I come to siblings are my cousin, Jennifer, Tony, and another friend of ours, Rhodey.” 

“Rhodey? Have I seen him before?” 

“Unlikely. He’s Air Force, stationed in Hawaii. He looked after Tony and I in college. Like the big brother we never wanted but most definitely needed.” 

" _ Bruce Banner," _ Clint gasped in faux-shock. “Were you a troublemaker in college?” Bruce blushed. “Oh my god, you  _ were _ ! Who do I have to pay to find out more?” 

“I’m sure Tony would actually pay  _ you _ for asking,” Bruce laughed. “But you know, it was just all the typical bad boy stuff. Checking out more books from the library than I was allowed, pulling all-nighters to read W.H Auden, drinking three wine coolers and then passing out. Oh, I went all out. My college experience was  _ wild _ .” 

Clint was laughing and Bruce was suddenly brought back to a memory of the movie  _ Monsters Inc. _ when they found out that laughter was more powerful than screams. Bruce bet that Clint’s smile alone could power at least Brooklyn Heights and his laugh? Maybe all the way down to Brighton Beach. Bruce just wanted to lean into it, to bask in it. 

“Sounds like it. How you got any work done with all of  _ that  _ going on is beyond me. I can’t wait to interrogate, Tony,” Clint chuckled. “So that’s how you two met then? College?” 

“Yeah. We were assigned as roommates and there were a few bumps but we hit it off pretty quickly,” Bruce said, smiling as he thought back to it. 

“Bumps?” 

“If you think I’m introverted now and that Tony has no filter, just know that it was so much worse back then. I think I said fifteen words to Tony in our first month of rooming together and at least ten of them were because he enjoyed pissing me off.”

“Wow.” 

“Yeah, he got me out of my shell.” 

“And you mellowed him out.” 

“Yeah, some,” Bruce laughed. 

“And what about Nat? How’d you meet her?” 

“A couple years ago when I was writing my first book, I had just moved back from Brazil. It’s really quiet here for the most part. I got used to my apartment being noisy all the time there and the noise helped me focus. I needed it. So I went exploring. Came across Nat’s bar.” 

He smiled, remembering it. He had wandered for a good hour or two, going in and out of cafes and trying out different parks or other sitting areas but nothing was quite right. 

And then he found Nat’s. It was simply lit but not dark, and the perfect temperature. The seats were plentiful and spread out so he had plenty of options and space. The drink menu looked good and the surfaces weren’t sticky. 

“I loved it immediately. Nat came over herself to take my drink order and I could tell she was slyly interrogating me. Who’s this newcomer?” he said, doing his best to imitate her smooth, deep voice and Clint chuckled. 

Bruce plucked a few grapes as he continued, rolling them in his hand. 

“I was trying my hand at flirting one evening. Felt adventurous. Ended up spilling my drink all down the front of the guy and myself. I was so embarrassed, I hightailed it to the bathroom. The  _ wrong _ bathroom. Nat was in there and I’m sure she was about to stab me, assuming I was a pervert or something and then she just looked me up and down and said ‘need a towel?’ That’s the only time I’ve ever been grateful for anyone taking pity on me. I explained while she helped me and… I dunno. She looked out for me after that. We started talking more.” 

Bruce was still smiling as he turned to Clint, his smile dropping when he caught sight of Clint’s expression. The surprise was clear on his face with his wide eyes and slightly open mouth and Bruce couldn’t figure out what about his story had surprised Clint. 

“What?” 

“You like  _ guys?" _

“I,” Bruce began, drawing back instinctively although it made no sense for Clint to have a bad reaction to that because all of his closest friends were in gay relationships. “Yes. I’m bisexual.” 

“Oh. I didn’t realize.” 

Bruce snorted. “Sorry, I should’ve paired my purple sweats with a pink shirt and blue socks.” 

“I was like ninety-nine percent sure you were straight.” 

“That’s the first truly offensive thing you’ve said to me,” Bruce told him and Clint laughed. “I cuff my pants and wear colorful socks. And you saw me at that  _ gay _ bar!” Bruce realized the hypocrisy of his statement because he assumed Clint was straight despite the gay bar but  _ so _ ! “Not to mention I have a bi-pride pin on my bag.” 

“Sorry. See now  _ that _ deserves an— wait what? Where?” 

“There,” Bruce said, pointing to the bag that was resting on the little stand near the front door and sure enough, there was the tiny enamel pin. 

“No clue how I missed that. Well, I owe you an apology. But also that bar was such an obvious set up for us to bond that I didn’t even think Bucky or Tony had chosen it for any reason other than they knew the place,” Clint explained. 

“Wait, so what made you think I was straight?” Bruce asked, genuinely curious. 

Clint shrugged. “I dunno. You know how in straight friend groups there’s sometimes that token queer? Well, I just figured you were our token hetero since obviously it’s not Tony.” 

“Which means also obviously not you,” Bruce said. 

“ _ What?  _ _ Me?" _

“Well, are you?” Bruce laughed. 

“Dude,” Clint said, shaking his head, “no. God,  _ no. _ Imagine being limited like that? That’s just—ugh. No. I’m pan.” 

Bruce felt simultaneously wonderful and terrible. It was an insane enough combination of emotions that he laughed a little. 

It was nice that this was confirmation that Clint could potentially be into Bruce but it was awful because at least if he had been gay his only competition would be other men. Now Bruce’s competition was  _ anyone _ Clint found attractive. Oh good grief. 

Instead of letting himself dwell on the bad, he asked Clint if he could know his coming out story and Clint was only too happy to oblige. He sat back and began, a smirk on his face that Bruce was possibly too mesmerized by. The music continued in the background,  _ Another One Bites The Dust _ the perfect soundtrack to Clint’s story. 

“So first I thought I was gay,” he said, telling the story of the first man he ever had a crush on. Some other guy at the foster home who was a year older than him. “Because, I mean, we kissed and I definitely enjoyed it.” He laughed and continued, “But then I met this girl at school and it was like ‘okay… so bi, I guess.’” 

“Fast forward a good chunk of time and many  _ varied _ sexual encounters and crushes and I just… I remember I was at Nat’s and we were watching this movie,  _ To Wong Foo: Thanks For Everything, Julie Newmar." _

“I love that movie,” Bruce cut in. 

Clint smiled. “Me too. And there I am watching Wesley Snipes as Noxie and trying to focus on the plot and I just… said it. I’d been thinking about it for a while and Nat was up to date with my latest label—which was ‘hell if I know’—and when I said ‘I’m pansexual’ she said ‘okay’ and asked me to pass the popcorn.” 

“That was exciting,” Bruce said, grinning. “And very on brand for Nat. Speaking of popcorn, are you hungry? I can order something.” 

Bruce was trying his hardest not to overthink the situation he was currently in but he couldn’t help but wonder why he wasn’t freaking out more to be in it. It seemed incredibly counterproductive to be calm and then stress about being calm but that was Bruce, a walking, talking paradox. 

He felt so at ease with Clint in his home, in his personal space. It was almost as if his presence had been missing all along and now he was here and balance was restored. 

“Right. It takes a lot to get Nat to freak out.” He checked his phone and then said, “Yeah, I didn’t even realize the time. Are you sure you don’t mind me staying?” 

“I told you, I had zero plans. Saturdays are always my lazy days. And for what it’s worth, I like you a lot too,” he said, trying to ignore the fact that he could feel his pulse in his throat and his hands immediately went clammy. He discreetly wiped them off on his sweats. 

He got up to go to the kitchen where he had left his phone, coming back to sit beside Clint on the couch again. Clint scooted closer, moving the bowl of grapes onto his lap. His arm fell onto the back of the couch behind Bruce and if Bruce were to shift to the right just a little bit, he would be leaned against Clint’s side. 

He focused on his breathing to keep his traitorous body from actually doing it. 

“What are you in the mood for?” Bruce asked, pulling up his delivery app. He lifted his head to look at Clint who was already watching him, uncomfortably close now. 

Bruce fidgeted, the discomfort at the sudden proximity overwhelming, and he stood again and went to the kitchen despite having nothing to do there. He started putting away some dishes that he had left out to dry under the pretense that he wanted to also get some out for their delivery. 

The problem was that it was too close for comfort because Bruce wanted to be  _ closer _ but by now he had given Clint so many obvious opportunities that it was getting to be ridiculous to believe that Clint wanted to be anything other than friends. 

“Uh,” Clint began, looking down at his lap as he spoke, “pizza?”

“I had pizza already this week.” 

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.” 

Bruce snorted. “How about burgers?” 

“Sounds amazing.” 

Bruce quickly pulled up his favorite place and tapped in his order, bringing his phone over to Clint who took it and browsed for a bit before adding his to the cart as well. They argued for a moment about who would pay but Bruce won because it was his app, his home, and Clint was his guest. 

“So can I know yours?” 

“My what?” Bruce asked, waiting for the checkout page to load. 

“Your coming out story.” 

“Oh, yeah sure. It’s really not as interesting.” 

“Doubt it.” 

Bruce finished up with the order and tossed his phone onto the cushion between them, grateful for the space again. He folded his arms over his chest and thought back to that day. 

“Uh, okay, so I always knew. All through school I’d had crushes on girls and guys but I was too afraid to do anything about it because of how I was raised. My father was, of course, a raging homophobe—”

“Relatable.” 

“—so it wasn’t until college and not even until sophomore year that Tony found out. Ugh, god, he was using my computer and—”

“Tell me he didn’t find your porn.” 

“What? No!” Bruce said, whacking Clint’s arm. “I had searched… oh man, if you didn’t think I was a socially awkward mess already…” he trailed off, looking over at Clint who was nearly on the edge of the couch, waiting as patiently as possible. “I had googled how to flirt with men.” 

Bruce clapped his hands over his face. The embarrassment was too much. This was so painful! Why did he agree to tell this story? 

He peeked out between two fingers to see Clint red in the face, a hand covering his mouth and eyes wide. He hadn’t started laughing yet, it was just quiet shock at the moment. 

“This is actually worse than you laughing.” 

“Bruce!” Clint gasped quietly. “You googled how to flirt with guys and you were in  _ college _ ?” 

“I said I’m awkward, alright? Sometimes it works for me. You know, this really does it for some people,” he joked, gesturing to his body. 

There was a glint of something in Clint’s eye but it was gone as soon as it came. “My god, Bruce, it’s just so fucking cute.” 

“I’m glad you find it cute because at the time I just wanted to melt into the floor. Tony saw it and immediately started talking about it. He was a jerk about it for a solid minute but then the sincere kicked in and he was ready to help.” 

Bruce remembered it so vividly. He remembered the absolute mortification of Tony seeing his search history. He was sitting beside Tony on his bed and Tony had pressed that dreadful H-key and the first thing that popped up was the recent search for  _ how to flirt with men. _

“So what did he do?” 

“Well, he taught me how to flirt, showed me some tips and tricks. We went out to a bar and I tried it out. So many attempts were crash and burns. I walked up to this one guy and got tongue tied. I got up there, leaned on the bar beside him and with all the suaveness that a young me could muster up, I said ‘hey Bruce, want a drink?’ And believe it or not, the man’s name was not Bruce.”

" _ Bruce," _ Clint hissed again, shocked and entertained. “So how was your first time? Also disastrous or...? If this gets too personal just—”

“No, good. Surprisingly. Really, really good. Uh, it was actually with a completely random person I’ll never see again from a bar in Brazil.” 

“Wait. You went  _ all _ of college without hooking up with a dude?” 

“Well… for a while there I was with Betty. So I knew this thing about me but I was with her and then afterwards… I didn’t really want anyone for a while.” 

“What happened with her? Is it like in the book? Just a bad breakup?” 

Bruce sighed softly. “That’s the one thing I really don’t want to get into.” 

“Oh, sorry. No, that’s fine. My bad.” 

“It’s okay,” Bruce said, turning to him, one leg tucked underneath him. “It’s your turn to tell me about a flirting fail.” 

Clint laughed, cracking his knuckles. “Buckle up, English nerd.” 

They spent a good half hour laughing and cringing and teasing each other as they shared story after story of flirting fails and sexual blunders, other random anecdotes thrown in here and there or periods of comfortable silence as the music continued, slowly playing through Bruce’s throwback playlist. 

Clint told Bruce about the time he woke up the next morning after a particularly drunken night and couldn’t remember the name of the person he was in bed with. 

“I just kept saying ‘you’ and they eventually caught on,” Clint laughed. “And then they cussed me out for it.” 

Bruce told Clint about the time he got high and agreed to a threesome. 

“There are things I can see you doing and neither of those make the list,” Clint said, shaking his head softly and turning to Bruce. 

Their food had come a while back and now they were lounging, half-eaten burgers on their laps. Bruce had both legs crossed underneath him and Clint had one folded on the couch and the other hanging off, still space between them. 

Bruce kept waiting for the moment when they would run out of conversation or Clint would get bored and make up an excuse to leave. He kept waiting for the wonderful afternoon to come crashing down and the usual reality to set in. 

But it didn’t. It never did. This wonderful afternoon had turned into a wonderful evening and Bruce’s only concern now was trying not to crawl over and plant himself in Clint’s lap. 

“What? Why?” Bruce asked, pretending to be offended as he dipped his fry in a mayo-ketchup mixture that Clint had called disgusting until he tasted it. 

“Oh, come on. Weed? A threesome? As far as professors go, that’s a Bucky story, not a Bruce story.” 

“I can be rambunctious.” 

“The use of the word ‘rambunctious’ just further proves my point,” Clint said, shaking his head again but smiling. 

Bruce laughed, feeling so warm and comfortable that he almost couldn’t believe it. Clint made him laugh a lot, which wasn’t necessarily a huge feat but it was still noteworthy. Bruce never found himself forcing a laugh to save them from an awkward silence; it always came naturally and what’s more, Bruce actually made Clint laugh and  _ that _ was what shocked Bruce. 

After having spent almost an entire day in Clint’s company, Bruce found himself more at odds with his feelings for Clint than ever. Now there was this new added factor: Clint was fantastic (that wasn’t new)  _ as a friend _ (that was). What if Bruce made a move or confessed and ruined  _ everything _ ? Besides, it was quite clear that Clint was still dealing with his own breakup if Thanksgiving was anything to go by. 

“Well, Tony can confirm it.” 

“Ew, why does Tony know. Wait, was he a part of the—”

“No, no. But, you know, he’s my best friend. I tell him everything.” 

“Aha, gotcha. Yet another thing to add to my endless list of questions for him about you. You know, you keep talking yourself down—you’re not a people person, your coming out story isn’t great, you’re awkward—and okay, yes, you’re a teensy bit awkward. Just this much,” he said, holding his hands about three feet apart and Bruce rolled his eyes, “but you’re  _ easily _ the most interesting person I have ever met.” 

Bruce couldn’t process the compliment. It was so huge and so kind and from Clint! He did his best not to look away and instead tried for a snarky reply. 

“I feel like that’s an insult to Natasha’s entire existence. And actually our entire friend group’s existence,” Bruce said and his words brought him back to his self-disparaging thoughts Thursday night when he’d looked around that table of beautiful people and felt so out of place among them. 

“Yeah, they’re interesting but I pretty much grew up with them, you know? I know everything but with you, it’s something new every day.” 

Bruce smirked. “Well, that’s how meeting new people works.” 

Clint rolled his eyes. “That’s not what I mean, smart ass. Like, not to toot my own horn, but I’m damn good at reading people. Even Bucky. But you? I honestly never know what to expect from you and it’s as refreshing as it is interesting.” 

“Oh,” Bruce breathed out, surprised by that explanation. “Thank you.” 

“It’s not even a compliment, it’s just a fact. I’m sure your blog supporters agree.” 

“I almost forgot about the blog.” 

“We should check it.” 

“Why?” Bruce groaned. What if there was another of those posts waxing poetic about his eyes or his hair? 

“Because it’ll be fun,” Clint said, already taking out his phone and Bruce just sighed and gave him the WiFi password. “Awesome.” 

Clint tapped away for a moment and then put his food onto the coffee table so he could scoot closer to Bruce. Bruce’s knees were pressed into the side of Clint’s thigh now and it was as warm and firm as he had assumed. 

He bet Clint was gorgeous. Just chiseled and breathtaking from head to toe. Now that he knew he had been a firefighter, the fantasies as of late had gotten out of control. Visions of Clint scooping Bruce up into his arms and carrying him to bed. Or lifting him up and letting Bruce wrap his legs around him, pressing him against a wall and continuing to support Bruce’s weight as he fucked him slowly. 

Bruce cleared his throat and shook his head, trying to focus on whatever it was Clint was showing him. Right now was  _ not _ the time for a boner. 

Clint’s phone was angled towards Bruce and Bruce could see the dark blue of the website. Clint scrolled through a few posts and then stopped on one that caught his attention. He cleared his throat and looked at Bruce, a mischievous glint in his eyes and a smirk on his lips. 

“Professor Banner could give me three midterms in an hour and I would still love him,” Clint read. “Does P.B—apparently this is what some people on here call you—know that I would literally die for him? Like, if someone told me he was in trouble, I would wrap myself around him and protect him?” 

“Please stop,” Bruce said, red in the face. These messages were beyond sweet but at the same time, all of this over-the-top and underserved praise was uncomfortable. 

“Really?” Clint asked. 

Bruce looked at the phone for a moment and then said, “One more and then new topic, please.” 

“Okay. One more.” He scrolled for a moment, looking for a good one. “Bruce Banner is the sweetest person on earth and possibly other planets and if anything ever happened to him, I would burn down the entire school without batting an eye.” 

“Now that one’s just worrying. Arson isn’t a compliment.” 

“Aw, you’re not gonna tell me all about the symbolism of fire and passion or something?” 

Bruce’s eyebrows raised. “Actually, that’s not half-bad.” 

“I said I didn’t go to college, not that I’d never read a book,” Clint grumbled though not truly annoyed. He put his phone away and turned to Bruce, still so close, still in Bruce’s space and still maintaining the contact between his leg and Bruce’s knees and Bruce had never known that he could feel so much from so little. 

He was leaning towards Clint. He could feel himself wanting to lean even closer. He thought about giving in. Friendship be damned, if he were right he would be getting so much more. If Clint liked him, he’d get the whole package. He could keep this wonderful friend and also add in kisses and touches and— 

“Fluce Flanner, you home?” came Tony’s voice as the door opened and he and Steve walked right on in. Bruce and Clint distanced themselves and Clint scooted over to his cushion again. 

Tony and Steve stopped at the entrance, looking between the two of them and then at each other, their expressions somewhere between confused, surprised, and intrigued. 

“Clint,” Steve said and Clint gave him a lazy salute. 

“Hey, Steve. You drunk?” 

“Tipsy,” Steve corrected, coming further into the apartment and plopping down in the chair opposite the couch. “Hey, Bruce.” 

“Nice to see you, Steve,” Bruce said, a warm smile directed at the grinning man who was quite clearly more than tipsy. 

Tony was still at the door, still processing. He came and sat on the arm of the couch beside Bruce, stealing a few fries from his plate. 

“So, what’s going on here?” Tony asked, actually tipsy, his hand on Bruce’s shoulder. Bruce looked up at him pleadingly because a tipsy Tony had even less of a filter and Bruce was terrified that either he or Steve would say something Bruce would rather keep to himself. 

“Dinner,” Clint answered. 

“I can see that. How did dinner happen?” Tony clarified. 

“I was texting Clint and he asked to come over and now… dinner,” Bruce said, waving his hand in the general direction of their food and not offering more of an explanation. 

“Nice to see how far along you two have come.” 

Thank god for Steve Rogers. He was so wonderfully neutral. 

“Yeah, definitely,” Clint agreed. He checked his phone again, pausing before he put it away to unlock it and respond to a text. 

“How was your day?” Bruce asked the two of them, honestly wishing they hadn’t shown up because Bruce wasn’t sure what would have happened but he had been enjoying the closeness, both of them subconsciously trying to be closer. He had hope for a minute there that Clint might just kiss him. 

“Long, kinda boring,” Steve said, letting his head fall back and he blew a raspberry. This was both very cute and amusing because Steve rarely let himself complain. He was usually the grin and bear it type because if it didn’t kill him or hurt others, then he might as well just endure it but apparently behind that mask of ‘I can do this all day’ was in fact a lot of complaining. 

“What! You were bored?” Tony asked, turning to him in genuine shock. “You kept telling me it was fun!” 

“You tried on  _ fourteen _ suits, Tony. Fourteen,” Steve complained, dragging a hand down his face. Bruce looked up at Tony to see him struggling to keep his face straight, trying so hard to look shocked at Steve’s blunt honesty when all he really wanted to do was laugh. “And then you didn’t even  _ like _ any!” He threw his arms up in the air and then dropped them down onto his thighs with a smack. 

Bruce looked at Clint, both of them hiding their grins. 

“And I  _ told  _ you I liked the dark blue one because of how it fit your figure but then you said that was the  _ worst  _ one of them all!” Steve lifted his head up to look at Bruce. “Do you have any water?” 

“Coming right up,” Bruce said, still smirking. 

“Honey, if it makes you happy we’ll go back tomorrow and I’ll get the dark blue one.” 

" _ Tomorrow? _ I have to go  _ again? _ _ Ugh," _ Steve groaned, and this time Bruce and Tony giggled out loud. 

“What’s the suit for anyway?” Clint asked, reclining again and it honestly made Bruce’s heart swell to see Clint so comfortable in his home. 

“The wedding,” Tony answered. “And actually, Brucey-pie, I know today’s your do nothing day but did you happen to go try on  _ your _ suit?” 

“Uh, no. Not yet. I’m still trying to decide if I even like that one. Might browse a bit more first.” 

“Hmm, sounds a lot like stalling to me. The wedding is in less than  _ two weeks. _ How about you tag along with me tomorrow when I go alone since Steve had such an awful time apparently.” 

“It was  _ terrible,"  _ Steve said, taking the water Bruce offered him. “Not to mention him trying to pick a tie and pocket square. If I never see another tiny piece of silk, it’ll be too soon.” 

Bruce sat down again and turned to Clint, waiting for some witty remark but instead he found Clint staring down at his hands. Bruce opened his mouth to speak but thought better of it. 

Clint  _ might _ talk to him. He  _ might _ tell him what was wrong but Bruce highly doubted that would be the case so long as they weren’t alone. 

Bruce turned to Tony who was also eyeing Clint while Steve attempted to drink the entire glass of water in one go. Tony raised an eyebrow and Bruce shrugged. 

“Well, honeybunch, maybe I should get you to bed. I think you’re gonna have a nasty hangover in the morning,” Tony said, going over and helping his boyfriend up. Steve wrapped his arm around Tony’s waist and smiled down at him, leaning to kiss his forehead. It was a loud smack and absolutely lacking all grace, but it was incredibly sweet. 

“It wasn’t  _ all  _ bad,” Steve said to him and Tony huffed in disbelief. “You look good in suits.” Tony yelped when Steve pinched his butt. 

“And on that note, goodnight neighbor, goodnight Barton,” Tony said, leading Steve across the hall to his apartment and then Bruce and Clint were alone again. 

“What happened?” 

“Huh?” Clint said, looking over at Bruce, his blue eyes sad again. “Oh, nothing.” 

“Nothing-nothing or ‘I don’t wanna talk about it’ nothing?” Clint pursed his lips and gave what he could of a smile. “Ah, the second one.” 

They were quiet for a moment. 

“Hey,” Bruce said, Clint’s full attention on him, “do you wanna be my Steve tomorrow? Come help me pick out a suit?” 

Quite a few emotions danced across Clint’s face before he settled on something entirely unreadable. “I can’t tomorrow. I promised my neighbor I’d help her run some errands. Furniture shopping and putting it together and stuff.” 

Bruce nodded, trying to mask his disappointment. He would've loved to have Clint there. Of course for all the obvious reasons but also because Clint was extraordinarily great company. 

“Sounds like a productive day. Your neighbor’s lucky to have someone so nice living nearby,” Bruce said. 

“I’m lucky to have her. Really sweet woman.” Clint checked his phone again and then sighed. “It’s getting late. I’ve taken up enough of your ‘do nothing day’. Thanks for letting me crash, and for feeding me, and for telling me some of your  _ wild _ college stories.” He grinned. 

Bruce smiled, standing as Clint did. “This was really nice. We should do this again. You’re welcome here anytime.” 

He walked him to the door and Clint put on his jacket and shoes, wrapping his scarf around himself and tugging on a purple beanie. He looked down at Bruce and Bruce’s hand twitched, ready to reach out and pull him into another hug. He wanted another hug so badly. 

Clint answered his silent request, leaning down and wrapping his arms around Bruce again just as tightly. Bruce listened to the soft exhale Clint let out and closed his eyes, allowing himself to imagine for just a second that Clint was just holding him, not hugging him goodbye. 

When Clint pulled back, he was still looking down at Bruce. 

“Clint?” Bruce asked, simply not satisfied with only two hugs after longing after this man for months. The strength of his desire for this man outweighed any social-anxiety red flags he might have normally felt if he had tried to ask for a second hug. 

Clint was looking down at Bruce in that soft way of his that made him feel warm and fuzzy. It made him feel like a teenager again falling in love for the first time. It made him feel so seen, so noticed. Bruce knew that he had Clint’s entire attention and that fact alone sent chills down Bruce’s spine and dissolved his last bit of timidity. 

“Yeah, Bru—”

Bruce grabbed Clint by his jacket and pulled himself up, going on his tiptoes exactly how he had imagined it so many times, and he kissed him. 

Clint’s lips were warm and welcoming. A little chapped from the wintry winds but still nicer than any Bruce had ever had the pleasure of kissing. 

It was half a second before Clint reacted. His hands moving first. One went to Bruce’s back to support him and the other came up into his hair and grabbed a handful, tugging roughly, and Bruce felt an involuntary moan escape him. 

“Oh, shit,” Clint said as he pulled back, resting his forehead against Bruce’s. “Is that what you wanted to say?” 


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “He likes me, Tony.”

It was a little clumsy at first, both of them so desperate to kiss each other. Bruce had Clint pinned against the wall and Clint was trying to shrug out of his jacket and kick off his shoes without breaking the kiss but it was getting difficult so he finally pulled away. 

As soon as the more irritating articles of clothing were gone, he was grabbing Bruce again who led them to the couch, stepping backwards until he felt it hit the back of his legs and he fell onto it, pulling Clint on top of him. 

Clint deepened the kiss, his tongue sliding into Bruce’s mouth and Bruce felt like his entire body was on fire. He bucked up, trying to get some friction and finding it against Clint’s thigh that was pressed into the couch between his own legs. 

“Oh my god, Bruce,” Clint breathed, kissing down Bruce’s jaw and neck now and onto his collarbones, moving his shirt aside to suck marks onto the skin in areas not easily noticed. Had Bruce had any brain cells left in that moment, he would have really appreciated that fact. 

“I’ve wanted you for so long,” Bruce admitted, his hands exploring what he could of Clint’s body, running down his muscled arms and over his back. 

“Are you kidding me?” Clint laughed, biting down on the skin between Bruce’s neck and shoulder, grinning when that got a pleasured gasp out of him. 

“Not even a little bit,” Bruce breathed. 

“Well, I’ve wanted you since I first saw you at the bar,” he said, turning Bruce’s head to kiss up his neck and to just below his ear. 

“What?” 

“Yep,” Clint laughed. “I was watching you and you were watching me but for very different reasons. Can I?” His hands were holding the bottom of Bruce’s shirt. 

Bruce had always been self-conscious about his body but right now all he could think about was reciprocation. If Bruce removed his shirt, Clint would take his off too. 

Bruce nodded and Clint pulled it up. Bruce sat up to make it easier and Clint slipped it over his head and tossed it onto a chair. He immediately dropped back down to plant kisses all up and down Bruce’s chest and stomach. Some of them tickled, others were just so incredibly sweet. 

“Your turn,” Bruce said and Clint quickly obliged, lifting himself to yank his sweater over his head and off onto the floor. Bruce gasped. 

Clint was straddling him and Bruce reached up to touch his stomach, his fingers feeling along the muscles, moving upward to his well-defined pectorals and then back down to the v-lines leading into his low-hanging jeans. 

Bruce couldn’t help it. He frowned and Clint instantly picked up on the change of mood. 

“What’s wrong? What happened? You don’t want this?” Clint asked, gesturing between the two of them. 

“No, I do. I really, really do. It’s nothing. Come on,” Bruce said, trying to pull Clint back down. 

“Bruce,” Clint said sternly. 

“You have actual abs,” Bruce said quietly, his fingers still moving across his stomach in amazement. Clint looked like he belonged in a calendar photo shoot for the local fire station. He looked like he belonged on the cover of Men’s Health or GQ when he was in the suit. 

Just as Bruce had assumed, Clint was gorgeous and this was only the top half of him. 

And then there was Bruce. Soft, no-definition-having Bruce. He wasn’t unhealthy, he was just… soft. He was thin but he still had little love handles and squishy spots. There was nothing overly masculine about him except for, perhaps, the body hair. 

“Yeah, and?” Clint asked with a snort. He reached down and touched Bruce’s chest, letting his hands slide down to the top of Bruce’s pants and back up. “So do you. Just underneath here.” He leaned down and trailed kisses down the center of his chest to his bellybutton. Clint nuzzled his nose against Bruce’s side and he squirmed because it was ticklish. “God, you’re cute.” 

“Cute?” Bruce repeated, not exactly happy with that adjective right at that moment. 

Clint looked up, his blue eyes more intense than Bruce had ever seen them. 

“Yeah, you’re cute. I think you’re adorable. But you know what else?” He grinned and dipped his head down again, his mouth finding Bruce’s nipple and he sucked lightly, sending sparks of pleasure through Bruce’s body. Bruce let out another moan and he heard Clint match it. “You’re just about the sexiest man I’ve ever seen.” 

“You’re beautiful, Clint,” Bruce panted and Clint stalled, his tongue still pressed flat against Bruce’s pec. “M-most beautiful person I’ve ever laid eyes on. You take my breath away.” He didn’t care if it was cheesy because it was true. He did and he had taken it away, quite a few times. 

Clint lifted his head again and this time his pupils were blown so wide that the blue was only a thin ring around them. Clint smiled and leaned in to kiss Bruce on the lips, making it slow and intimate, literally kissing him breathless. 

His hands found the top of Bruce’s sweats but Bruce grabbed him and pulled back from the kiss, catching his breath before he said, “I do have a bed, you know?” 

There was more clumsiness and awkwardness at times and they had even stopped to laugh at one point but that was all a part of what made it so very them. 

They’d taken some time to explore each other’s bodies once fully naked. Bruce had traced a few scars on Clint and Clint had done the same but for once, Bruce didn’t feel self-conscious about them. He was sure he would because only moments ago he’d worried about his physique but Clint had not only dismissed his worries but debunked them entirely. 

Clint thought he was sexy. Clint kissed him like he meant that. Bruce could feel the truth in Clint’s touches. He could see and hear that Clint wanted him by the way his body reacted to Bruce’s moans and caresses. 

There was no room left in Bruce’s mind for doubt. Clint wanted him. Clint liked him. This was happening, now maybe he could let himself enjoy it. 

When they’d gotten to the bedroom, they’d used approximately three and a half seconds determining positions. Bruce laid down and opened his bedside drawer, showing Clint everything he would need and that was that. 

Clint was gentle with him from prep to penetration, so very gentle, and Bruce appreciated it but it was not what he wanted. He was vocal about that, telling Clint what he really wanted and how, and Clint did just as he was asked each time until Bruce was reduced to nothing more than a moaning, drooling mess. 

Bruce hadn’t felt this good in years and despite his shitty relationship with socializing, his sex-life hadn’t been completely killed off. Clint just happened to be especially gifted in this area and part of Bruce knew this was worth the wait but another part of him was cursing himself for waiting so damn long. 

“Fuck, Bruce,” Clint swore, his hand on Bruce’s hip squeezing so hard Bruce knew it would leave a bruise but he was looking forward to it; to seeing all the places on his body where Clint was, reminders that this night had actually happened. Solid evidence. 

Clint’s hips snapped forward roughly and Bruce’s gripped the sheets hard enough to make his knuckles white, his toes curling as the thrusts continued. 

Every time Clint said his name, Bruce felt a wave of pleasure wash over him. His deep voice rumbled as he spoke, swearing and moaning. The hand not clutching Bruce’s hip, reached down to stroke and tease and Bruce was fully blissed out now. He couldn’t even focus. 

Everything Clint did and said worked so well for Bruce. He leaned forward, their chests nearly pressed together and he whispered to Bruce all the things about his body that he loved, still thrusting, still stroking, and Bruce didn't think anything would ever top this moment as far as pleasure went. 

It wasn’t much longer before Bruce was brought to the tipping point and then he was seeing white and calling out Clint’s name as he tensed up and climaxed. 

He felt Clint doubled over, his forehead on Bruce’s shoulder and hot breath blowing over his sweaty skin. They stayed like that for a while, panting, still coming down off their high, still connected, until Clint finally moved and stood somewhat awkwardly at the side of the bed. 

Bruce rolled and buried his face in his pillow and he turned to the side to see him there, glistening from sweat and afterglow, more beautiful than ever. 

“Can I just grab any towel?” he asked and Bruce looked at him in confusion. “I wanna, you know, clean you up.” 

Never had anyone offered that before. Normally Bruce just awkwardly hobbled to the bathroom in situations where he was topped and cleaned himself up, though he always offered it when the situation was reversed. 

“I… yes, any towel.” 

Clint left the room and was gone for much longer than Bruce thought was necessary to find a towel. He was just about to get up and go find him when the door opened and Clint came in with a glass of water in one hand and a damp towel in the other. He put the water down on Bruce’s nightstand. 

“Thought you might be thirsty,” he said, climbing back onto the bed and sitting himself down behind Bruce, the warm towel running over his skin and Bruce gasped when he touched certain parts of him, so sensitive now after the fact, but for the most part it was the single most relaxing thing anyone had ever done for him. 

He closed his eyes as Clint ran the towel along the inside of his upper thigh and then turned Bruce over easily to wipe off his stomach. 

“Definitely gonna need to change the sheets,” Clint said, his voice quiet, almost reverential, and Bruce forced his eyes open to look at him. Clint was guiding the towel down Bruce’s stomach with slow, gentle movements, his eyes roaming all over Bruce’s body, not staring at any one place in particular. 

Clint looked up and smiled at Bruce. “Was it alright?” 

Bruce laughed and Clint’s hand froze, his eyes falling back down away from Bruce’s face. “And here I thought understatements were my thing.” 

“What?” 

Bruce shook his head softly. “It's just a running joke but, Clint, alright? Was it alright?” He chuckled again, his hand falling onto his face and he let out a happy sigh. “That was amazing.” 

Clint let out a relieved sigh. 

“Wait. Has someone had sex with you before and not been happy about it?” 

Clint shrugged, folding the towel up into a tiny ball and stepping off the bed again. “You win some, you lose some. Tub?” 

“Yeah, just toss it in there.” 

Clint disappeared again and Bruce fell back onto the bed, his arms splayed out, trying to get a grasp on the fact that that had really just happened. 

“I just had sex with Clint,” he said to himself, unable to stop his giggle. They had sex! Clint kissed him back and he said he liked Bruce and he liked Bruce’s body and—and—

“What’s that?” Clint asked, coming back into the room with a glass of water for himself. 

Bruce felt the weird urge to cover himself and he grabbed the sheet. 

“Hey, what are you doing with my view?” Bruce looked over, surprised, and Clint winked and sat down on the other side of the bed to drink his water. 

Bruce sat up and covered himself anyway, now feeling the self-consciousness coming back again. Clint had put his water down and was looking for where he’d tossed his underwear, pulling them on and looking around for the rest of his clothes. 

“You can shower first. If you want,” Bruce said, trying to hide the fact that he was sad Clint was leaving so soon. Just because they liked each other didn’t mean they were in a relationship (yet, he hoped) nor did the fact that they had had sex. 

“Are you going to?” Clint asked, looking over at him with a raised eyebrow. 

“I… no?” Why it came out as a question, Bruce didn’t know. 

“Then I’m fine. You gonna sleep naked? I definitely have no problem with that but I can also turn around if you’d rather me not watch you get dressed.” 

While Bruce’s mind tried to piece together what exactly was happening, it zeroed in on the unprecedented amount of understanding Clint had. Clint had just been buried a few inches deep in Bruce and yet he was offering to cover his eyes in case Bruce felt self-conscious getting dressed. What a wonderful human. 

“I—you’re sleeping? Here?” 

“Unless you don’t want me to. I was gonna ask at first and then figured I’d just see how far I could get before you said something,” he told him with a small smile that was sad in his eyes. 

“Stay,” Bruce said, reaching over to grab his hand when Clint moved to find the rest of his clothes. “I didn’t think you’d want to.” 

“I definitely want to,” he said, climbing onto the bed again and scooting over closer to Bruce. He lifted his hand and cupped Bruce’s face, his eyes falling to Bruce’s lips and he kissed him. This kiss was softer, lighter. It made Bruce’s heart flutter. It wasn’t sexual, it was romantic. 

Clint pulled away and inhaled deeply, looking up at Bruce again, his hand still on his face. 

“So have we really been this stupid for this long?” Bruce laughed, not expecting that. “You’ve liked me for a while?” 

Bruce nodded. “Always liked all of this,” Bruce told him, gesturing to his face and his body. “I’ve liked you ever since that first lunch at Marcia’s.” 

“Oh god,” Clint said, his head falling onto Bruce’s shoulder. “So long? Why did you never say anything?” 

Bruce laughed again though it was noticeably scornful. “So many reasons,” he said and Clint lifted his head up to look at him. Bruce turned to him, stared into his eyes and then down at his lips, slowing making his way back up. Even from so close up, Clint was breathtaking. Or maybe the correct word wasn’t ‘even’ but ‘especially.’ Especially from so close up. “You really like me?” 

Clint’s eyebrows tugged together, his lips pulling down into a slight frown. “Yes. I do. A lot. I meant that. That—that wasn’t just me trying to get you into bed or whatever doubts are going through that anxious mind of yours.” 

“That wasn’t it, just so you know. It’s just hard to imagine you wanting me.” When Clint opened his mouth to protest no doubt, Bruce raised a finger to tell him to wait and continued, looking away. “I overthink a lot, as you may have noticed.” 

“No,” Clint said dramatically and in mock-shock. 

“You won’t believe how long it took me to realize you even liked me as a friend,” Bruce told him with another sad laugh. “And then I… I was worried. Worried about how much I liked you. I thought it was just physical at first but then I started getting to know you and I just liked everything about you. And I just… over-thought it until I was convinced that there was no way you could want me.”

“Well, there’s definitely a way I could and do want you, so you can go ahead and throw out that faulty reasoning,” Clint said, matter-of-factly. “I didn’t think you liked me at all either. I thought you were just putting up with me for Steve and the others’ sake.” He huffed a laugh and pressed a kiss to Bruce’s shoulder. “I tried to kiss you so many times.” 

“Really?” Clint nodded. “I knew it! That day when you called me small?” 

“Yep, I wasn’t even thinking about that, I just wanted to push your scarf out of the way and kiss you. Right before you wrapped yourself up, your nose had gone all red and you just looked so damn cute.” 

“You really like that word, don’t you?” 

“You don’t?” 

He shrugged. “I don’t know. It could grow on me. Let me hear it again.” Clint laughed and repeated it right in Bruce’s ear, his lips brushing against his earlobe. Bruce shuddered. “Okay… okay, not bad.” 

Clint laughed again. “Come here.” He leaned back against the headboard, his arms wide and legs spread, a place right there for Bruce. How Bruce had daydreamed about curling up in Clint’s embrace, being encircled by those long arms, and just drifting off to sleep. 

“I… let me just get my underwear.” Bruce slid out of the bed, very aware of Clint’s eyes on him but he was fighting the urge to ask him to look away. What was the point in that? Especially now. 

He found his boxers and slipped them on, feeling grimy putting on underwear he’d spent the day in. He wrinkled his nose and looked over at Clint. 

“Shower?” 

“I don’t have any extra clothes.” 

“You can borrow some.” 

“No offense but we were just talking about you being small.” 

“I have oversized stuff.” When Clint raised a questioning eyebrow, Bruce explained, “I like to be comfy. Sue me.” He turned and headed for his closet while Clint tried and failed to hide his laughter at Bruce’s little pout. 

Bruce pulled out a huge pair of shorts and tossed them towards Clint along with an oversized t-shirt. 

“I can wash your stuff if you want it clean to wear it home in the morning,” Bruce said, turning around to find Clint holding up the large t-shirt. 

“You wear this?” 

“Uh, yeah. Why?” 

“Do you ever mix up which hole is for your arms and which for your head?” Clint asked, his lips twitching with the effort to maintain a serious expression. 

Bruce narrowed his eyes but was trying just as hard as Clint to stay serious. “That’s it. I’m showering alone. You can stay in here and be an ass,” Bruce told him, gathering his pajamas and heading for the bathroom. “Tall people,” he grumbled but Clint was right behind him, grinning at the back of his head. 

Bruce felt a hand in his hair and stopped walking. 

“Uh, whatcha doing there, pal?” 

“You have no idea how many times I’ve resisted the urge to just bury my hands in your hair. These curls are unfair,” Clint said, patting the top gently and watching the curls bounce.

When they finally made it to the bathroom, they stripped down again and Bruce took Clint’s underwear and put it in the hamper so he wouldn’t forget to wash it. 

“Hey,” Clint said while Bruce reached in and turned on the water, stepping back to let it warm up. Bruce turned to him and Clint grabbed both sides of his face and kissed him again. 

“What was that for?” Bruce asked when Clint finally pulled away. 

“I don’t know if you forgot but we literally only confessed our feelings for each other like two hours ago. I have months of missed kisses to make up for.” 

“Oh, well, in that case,” Bruce said, pressing up on his tiptoes to kiss Clint again. He saw Clint look down at his feet and he knew—he just knew—Clint’s inner monologue was a simple: ‘cute!’ 

  
  


Clean, warm, and tired out from a second round in the shower, Bruce scooted over when Clint told him to come here this time. He rested his head on Clint’s chest and Clint’s arm wrapped around him, his fingers stroking gently up and down his bare arm and that alone was enough to have Bruce struggling to stay awake. 

Bruce lifted his head so Clint could see his mouth in the dim light of the bedroom. “I’m really glad you came over.” 

Clint had taken his hearing aids out before showering and left them out so he could sleep. He seemed self-conscious about it and tried to put them in when they got in bed but Bruce shook his head. He’d had some experience with hard-of-hearing students who used them and had heard how uncomfortable they could be to fall asleep with. 

Bruce kissed Clint. “Goodnight.” 

He rested his head on Clint’s chest and heard him quietly say, “Goodnight, Bruce.” 

Bruce woke up feeling more rested and alive than he had in… well, he wasn’t entirely sure how long it had been but a very long time. He stretched, his arms raising high above his head and toes pointing and then he rolled, grinning, to find an empty bed. 

He sat up quickly, looking around the room but didn’t see any of Clint’s things. His hearing aids were gone off the nightstand and so was his glass of water. 

Bruce sighed, feeling the disappointment swell up in his chest and make his throat feel tight. He had already said it—they weren’t in a relationship, he had no right to get worked up over things like this—but it still hurt that Clint was gone. 

He thought about rolling over and sleeping the ache away but he knew that Tony had been serious about looking for a suit and would probably come cannonball onto his bed any minute now. He should at least get coffee into his system before he got here because he would also need to explain to him that he and Clint had slept together. 

He threw his legs out of bed, hoping the momentum would pull him the rest of the way but it did not. He sighed and stood, yawning as he walked out of his bedroom, in a rotten mood now and he really didn’t want to be. It should’ve been the best morning ever but the best morning ever ideally involved waking up beside— 

“Clint?” Bruce asked, shocked to find him in the kitchen searching for something. His sweater was laid across the back of the couch and he was wearing his jeans, both freshly washed and dried. 

He turned around, his ears warming hot pink. 

“You’re here,” Bruce said, feeling all of the badness pour out of him in that one grateful breath. 

“What? Of course I’m here. Did you think I left?” Bruce looked away, ashamed at having assumed he would do that. “Aw, Bruce, no. I just wanted to make you coffee and then I was cold so I put on my jeans but I couldn’t find the coffee beans and your machine is empty. Aw, come here.” 

Bruce didn’t stop to assure Clint he was fine. If hugs and consolation were being offered, why on earth would Bruce refuse? 

He walked over to Clint who pulled him into a seriously tight hug. Tighter than the last ones and it made Bruce feel safe and protected. He buried his face against Clint’s chest, inhaling deeply and trying to commit that particular scent to memory. He hoped it would last him the rest of the day. 

It was too soon to ask for his sweater, wasn’t it? 

Clint pressed a kiss into his hair and then coaxed Bruce’s head up, planting a kiss on his forehead after clearing a few rogue morning-curls away from it. 

“Hey, cutie,” Clint said, smiling. “You know, we can take this as quickly or as slowly as you’d like, just know that I’m not in this for a one night roll in the sheets and I’m not really about friends with benefits either.” 

“Neither am I.” 

“So like I said, we can figure out the pace but just know I’m not going anywhere unless you tell me to.” 

“Then I guess you’re stuck with me,” Bruce joked weakly, feeling warm when Clint’s smile widened. Bruce leaned up to press a kiss to his chin and then Clint dipped his head to catch Bruce’s lips. 

When they pulled apart, Bruce went to the pantry and grabbed a box from the top shelf, opening it up to reveal an assortment of coffee bags, all fresh beans. 

“Tony and I are kind of coffee snobs,” he explained, pulling out his favorite. “Anything in particular you like?” 

“I'm a bit of a connoisseur myself. I like my coffee hot and caffeinated. Got anything like that?” 

Bruce laughed, giving Clint a thumbs up and deciding to just introduce Clint to his favorite. He filled the machine and put two mugs underneath, waiting for it to heat the water up and he turned back to Clint who was leaning against his counter across from him, arms crossed over his chest, easy smile on his lips. 

Bruce shook his head slowly. 

“What?” 

“I just can’t believe you’re here. In my kitchen. You slept here. We slept together. It’s just crazy. But a good crazy,” he added when Clint raised an eyebrow. “Did you think this would happen when you came over?” 

“I hoped it would. Didn’t actually think it would but then when you let me hug you and you didn’t flinch or end it abruptly, I thought I had a chance. Not a fan of touch?” 

“Depends on the who, where, and why but in general, not a fan of it from people I don’t know very well, no.” Clint simply nodded and didn’t press more. Surely he understood where the aversion came from. 

“I don’t like having my hair pulled,” Clint admitted randomly. He shrugged. “Just thought you should know. But you’re fine with it?” 

“More than fine,” Bruce said with a smile that was much too dirty for so early in the morning. He handed Clint his coffee and then went to the fridge to pour some milk into his, going back to leaning on the counter across from Clint once he had gotten it just how he liked it. 

“What time do you need to help your neighbor?” 

“Oh, shit. I almost forgot. Thank you,” he said, digging around in his pocket for his phone. He sipped his coffee while scrolling through messages and then said, “Oh. Not till eleven. This is really good by the way.” 

“It’s my favorite,” Bruce said, his eyes going to his door because he knew that Tony could burst in at any moment and Bruce kind of wanted to explain this on his terms. 

He was always game to tell Tony any and everything—save for his Thaddeus incident but eventually he had—but he did like being able to gather his thoughts and figure out the best way to get it out because when he didn’t, Tony asked a question every three seconds and Bruce could barely answer the first one before the second one was coming out. Sometimes it was annoying. 

“You don’t want Tony to know I stayed over?” Clint asked, having followed Bruce’s gaze to the door. 

“I fully intend on telling them,” Bruce said, seeing the way his words cleared up the frown on Clint’s face. “I’d just rather this not be how they find out.” He gestured between the two of them. 

“Ah, understandable. Wait, them? Steve knows?” 

Bruce nodded. “And who do you report to? Or does no one know that you’re into all of this?” Bruce motioned to his body and Clint licked his lips, making them both laugh. 

“Bucky and Nat.” 

“And Nat? I had my suspicions about Bucky but Nat is just so hard to read.” 

“Yeah, Bucky wanted to just push our faces together at the bar that night and then on Thursday he kept joking that he was going to tell everyone but you and see how long until you figured it out. God, I was so stressed.” 

“I went and got a haircut and a shave just for you.” 

“No!” Clint gasped, grinning. “Really? I made Nat go with me to get a manicure.” 

“You’re joking.” 

“I’m not. Look. Pretty nails,” Clint said, holding out his hand to show off his perfectly trimmed and extremely clean nails. 

Bruce laughed, only realizing the implication a moment later. He felt the blush on his cheeks but didn’t mind it. “Kinda feels like we both expected the night to go differently.” 

“What? No! I just wanted my hands to be soft. Oh my god, I wasn’t even thinking about that. But now I am really, really glad I got it done.” 

Bruce grinned and they chatted some more about Thursday night, going over all the times they had each wanted to kiss the other or had said one thing but wanted to say something else entirely. Bruce told Clint about how stunned into silence he had been at the sight of Clint in a suit and Clint told him that his ‘want me to feed you’ joke had not been a joke at all. 

“If you’d said yes, I was fully prepared to do what needed to be done,” he said, Bruce laughing. “The others be damned.” 

Bruce took Clint’s empty mug and offered him breakfast but Clint said he’d pick something up for himself and his neighbor since she also had two small boys. Bruce’s heart fluttered just thinking about the great guy he now could call his. 

They spent a few minutes on the couch making out before Clint finished getting dressed and then they were at the door again, Clint looking down at Bruce and Bruce looking up. He was in Clint’s space now, almost chest to chest, and he pushed up on his tiptoes to kiss him and was met halfway. 

“I’ll text you?” Clint asked. 

“Yes, please. Have fun.” 

“You know, you’re gonna regret giving me a free pass to come here,” Clint said with a soft chuckle, taking Bruce’s hand in his. 

“I regret a lot of things,” Bruce said. “I don’t think that will be one of them.” 

Clint was quiet and then finally he sighed and let go of Bruce’s hand, leaning to press his lips to Bruce’s forehead. 

When the door closed, Bruce did a little dance, just bouncing back and forth from his left to his right foot, so incredibly happy. 

He called out to his home assistant in the speaker and requested ‘Crazy Little Thing Called Love’ and a few moments later, the music filled the room and Bruce found himself dancing around it as he tidied up and went to pour himself a second cup of coffee. 

The apartment was nearly clean and he was on a new song by the time Tony finally arrived, sleepy-eyed and dragging his feet. 

“Coffee,” Tony said, plopping down on Bruce’s couch. Bruce was in such high spirits that he didn’t even snark back at the demand. He brought Tony his cup and after a few sips, Tony began to look less like a zombie and more like himself. 

He looked around, narrowing his eyes as his mind worked and he found inconsistencies in his surroundings, the time of day and what he knew about his best friend. 

“Why is it so clean in here?” 

“I cleaned. Where’s Steve?” 

“Sleeping off that hangover I warned him about. I asked for coffee and that man rolled over and cursed. Can you believe it?” Tony said, standing to get a better look around. 

“I can,” Bruce said, trying hard not to sit there and grin like an idiot. 

“You know, something’s off but I don’t wanna figure it out because honestly you look so happy. Drugs? Are you doing drugs?” 

“He likes me, Tony.” 

“Hold on, let me drink some coffee and you give me the line again so I can finally do my dramatic spit take.” 

“He told me he likes me!” 

“Wait, really? It’s not just your latest observation? He actually formed his lips and said the words to you?” 

“We slept together.” 

“Bruce! Bruce! What?! Proof or it didn’t happen.” 

Bruce smirked and tugged down his t-shirt to show off his new collection of love bites. Then he pulled down one side of his sweats to show the vaguely hand-shaped bruise along his hip. 

“Holy shit. You sneaky little masochist. And where is he now? I need to smack him around some and give him the shovel talk.” 

Bruce giggled, high on life right at that moment. “He had to go. He has stuff to do today but he’ll text me.” 

“Come here. Sit down. Tell me everything. Wait. Do you want Steve to hear it too?” 

“He’ll probably cuss me out too for waking him. I’ll tell you and you give him the abridged version later.” 

“On it. Now spill the damn beans!” 

  
  
  


Bruce spent the rest of Sunday morning trailing behind Tony as he zipped in and out of shops, talking a mile a minute about what he thought would look good on Bruce and walking nearly as quickly. 

Steve, that jerk, had abandoned Bruce after the second shop, saying that he wanted to look around for an anniversary gift for Bucky and Sam. Bruce just so happened to know that their anniversary was in March, because Sam had mentioned it offhandedly once and Bruce put it in his calendar, but Bruce let him go, judging by the dark sunglasses and bottle of orange juice he was carrying around it was obvious that hungover Steve needed a shopping break. Bruce was still surprised he had even come. 

After explaining everything to Tony earlier, his best friend had been silent for a solid forty-five seconds before grabbing Bruce and pressing a loud, smacking kiss onto his cheek. 

“I’m really so very happy for you, Bruce. Like… this is amazing,” he had said, still holding onto Bruce tightly. Bruce was being squished and he loved it. 

Tony had asked him what was next, if they had a date planned or some other meetup and Bruce told him that they were going to figure things out and that Clint would text him later. Tony stared at him for a moment, probably looking for any underlying worry or stress over not knowing exactly what was happening next but Bruce felt fine. He didn’t need a detailed itinerary of their next steps. He was fine just knowing that there would be next steps. 

Tony accepted it, just happy to see Bruce so relaxed and then they had made their plan for the day, deciding which shops to tackle and when was the best time to wake Steve. Every now and then Tony would throw in a random question about Clint or about the evening and especially about Clint’s performance and Bruce happily answered every single question. 

“You know, I don’t mean to say I told you so but,” Tony said, looking through suit jackets on a wrack at Bloomingdales. 

“I told you so? What for? Because you said I needed to get laid? Don’t cheapen my experience please.” 

“I’m not. I swear. That’s not what I meant at all. I meant I was right about him liking you.” 

“Oh,” Bruce said, smiling softly. He got giddy just thinking about that fact. “And did you know Bucky and Nat were in on it?” 

“I had my suspicions about Barnes—”

“That’s exactly what I said!” Bruce told him, picking up a dark tie that made Tony immediately shake his head and Bruce put it back down with a huff. 

“—but Romanoff? She exists on her own plane of existence and what she does is a mystery to us mere mortals.” 

“Exactly,” Bruce agreed, picking up a silky black tie and white shirt and turning to Tony who was holding a deep burgundy suit jacket. 

“Yes,” Tony said. “Let’s find the pants and some shoes? Yes, shoes.” 

  
  


One complete look later, and Bruce and Tony were wandering around upstairs looking for Steve on the restaurant level. 

“Oh, he’s downstairs at the Magnolia Bakery,” Tony said, looking at his texts and then leading Bruce to the escalator. 

“Thanks, Tony.” 

Tony looked up from his phone, confused. “For…?” 

“For helping me find a suit. Just in general for being such a good friend.” 

“Okay, so you got some and you’re on drugs, gotcha.” 

“Can’t I compliment you without the help of psychoactives?” 

Tony narrowed his eyes. “Sure but it’s shady.” Bruce rolled his eyes and Tony wrapped an arm around his shoulder, pulling him in close. “Just pulling your arm, Brucifer. I know you love me.” 

“Yes, I do. Very much.” 

Steve was sitting on a stool facing out onto the street inside the bakery. He was wearing sunglasses despite the fact that it was overcast and had the largest cup of coffee Bruce had ever seen sat in front of him along with a lemon square. 

“Hey, Steve,” Bruce said softly and Steve turned and lowered his sunglasses. 

“Hey. Successful?” 

“Very,” Tony said, coming over to kiss him. He ran his hand along Steve’s back soothingly, bringing it up to gently massage his neck. “How’s my super duper soldier doing?” 

“He’s still super duper hungover. Can we go somewhere quieter now?” 

“Yeah, I’d like to get out of here too. It’s starting to fill up,” Bruce said, looking over at the entrance and wrinkling his nose at all of the people filing in as it got later in the day. Sunday afternoon was a busy time to shop in Manhattan. 

“Home or lunch?” Tony asked, looking between the both of them. 

“Lunch,” Bruce and Steve said at the same time. 

“And I have more questions about Clint now that I’m slightly more awake,” Steve told Bruce who nodded. 

  
  


“You know, for a while there I thought it was all some elaborate game Barton was playing because I knew why you weren’t picking up on the social cues but not him,” Tony said, taking a bite of his pasta. 

“No,” Steve said, shaking his head. “Clint can be an ass sometimes but he wouldn’t ever do that. And especially not to Bruce.”

“What do you mean by ‘especially’?” Bruce asked, tearing apart a piece of warm ciabatta and dipping it in the olive oil on the table.

Steve’s cheeks warmed pink and he rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, you know, you’re so—you’re… Tony?” 

“Oh no, please, tell the man what he is,” Tony said, grinning, and Steve glared. Tony blew Steve a kiss. 

“You’re… the world’s softest cinnamon roll,” Steve sighed defeatedly, dropping his head. 

“Tony!”

“What? You honestly expect me not to show Steve the blog? And it’s really not that bad. If someone made a blog praising me and talking about who they would kill if I got a splinter, I would be telling everyone about it.”

“Ugh,” Bruce groaned, covering his face with both hands and sighing into them. He dragged them down his face and leaned back in his chair, slouching enough that he knew it would start to hurt in a few seconds. 

“I just mean you’re very innocent,” Steve said. “I can’t imagine anyone wanting to hurt you, let alone Clint.” 

“I am not!” Bruce demanded. 

“He really isn’t,” Tony agreed knowingly, “but I can see why you all think that. So tell me more. Is it nice? Is it crooked?” 

“I’m not telling you about Clint’s penis,” Bruce said dryly, clearing his throat as a waiter passed and hoping he hadn’t heard that. 

“It’s kind of impressive,” Steve said offhandedly, reducing both Bruce and Tony to stunned silence. He looked up when neither of them spoke and just shrugged. “We were in the army together and then we were roommates. Seeing each other naked is inevitable.” 

“Fair enough,” Tony said. 

  
  


+

  
  


**Clint** : how’d it go? Find something you like? 

Bruce stared down at the message on his phone, his hands over the sink holding the baby spinach he had just washed. The rest of the afternoon had been somewhat unremarkable, just a pleasant day spent with Steve and Tony who bickered here and there, especially since Steve was still a little cranky. 

Now he was home, had managed to write some more and was making himself some dinner. He put the spinach into a bowl and dried his hands, picking up his phone. 

**Bruce** : hi! 

**Bruce** : got a nice wine-colored one, I really like it 

**Clint:** ooh, nice. Can’t wait to see the pics 

**Clint:** it was good. Simone’s awesome and she’s got these two really great sons. We brought everything home, put it together and then ordered pizza. All in all a good day 

**Bruce:** you can see it in person the next time you come over 

**Bruce:** that sounds really nice ! I’m glad it went well [smiley emoji] 

Bruce put his phone down and finished making his dinner, tossing in a few more vegetables and whipping up a salad dressing. He was just starting to chop his chicken when his phone dinged again. 

**Clint:** so what’s the plan for the evening? 

**Bruce:** just making dinner. Why? Were you going to invite yourself over? 

**Clint:** not tonight, sorry. I’m beat but would you wanna FaceTime? 

**Bruce:** sure 

Bruce opened the cabinet in front of him and propped his phone up against the plates inside, calling Clint. It rang twice and then connected, taking a moment for the video to come through and the anticipation made it feel like hours. 

“Hey,” Clint said, grinning, the corners of his eyes crinkling and Bruce’s stomach was doing somersaults. “That’s cute. I’m liking the hair.” 

Bruce reached up, having forgotten about the thin hairband he was wearing to keep his hair from flopping into his face when he cooked. He considered pulling it off but he was still cooking. 

“Thanks. It bothers me when I cook.” 

“Now, I would never want this, but why don’t you cut it?” 

Bruce shrugged. “I like it. It’s just annoying sometimes.” 

“Well, for what it’s worth, I love it. Whatcha making?” Clint looked like he was on his couch in what Bruce could only assume was the living room. He was in a plain white tee that made Bruce want to cuddle up to him so badly. 

“Chicken Caesar salad but I didn’t have romaine, so spinach,” Bruce said, lifting the bowl up so Clint could see it. 

“Sounds very healthy.” 

“I try and do the healthy thing every now and then. So tell me about your day. What all did you do?” 

Clint leaned back and started telling Bruce about their adventure to IKEA and the Container Store to get the boys’ new desks and toy boxes and a new table for their kitchen because the old one was rickety. 

Bruce smiled and nodded, humming where appropriate as he finished his meal, placing the sliced chicken into the skillet and adding in his seasonings. 

By the time Bruce’s meal was ready to eat, Clint was nearly done with his story and punctuating his sentences with deep, eye-watering yawns. Bruce cooed softly because a sleepy Clint was a very sweet sight. He rubbed his eyes until they were a little red and he plopped back onto the couch. 

“Think I’m gonna move to the bed. If I fall asleep on you, I’m sorry,” Clint told him, getting up and Bruce tried his best to see the apartment but didn’t manage to see more than the hardwood floors. “So your day was good?” 

Bruce chewed for a second longer and then started telling Clint about his day, starting with Tony coming over and immediately realizing that something had happened. 

He didn’t go into full detail of everything Tony had asked because that would just be embarrassing but he mentioned a few of the questions. 

“And you said?” 

“That I’ve never drooled into pillow before,” Bruce answered with a laugh. “Oh, thank you for keeping the hickeys and bruises to easily concealable places.” 

Clint snorted and then frowned, holding up a finger to tell Bruce to wait while he yanked off his t-shirt and laid back in bed. Bruce was not shy about trying to get a closer look. 

“Wait, I left bruises apart from the hickeys? Aw, Bruce, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be so—”

Bruce cleared his throat, his cheeks burning hot from the sudden rush of blood to them. “It’s, uh. It’s fine. I like it.” 

“Oh?” Clint asked, a sly grin on his face. “Good to know. We’ll have to explore that more one day. Finish telling me about your day first.” 

There were things about Clint—things he said and did, not physical things—that genuinely shocked Bruce. Bruce had plenty of friends who were as considerate and observant as Clint. Basically, their entire friend group now could fit that description. 

But Bruce had never had someone like Clint as his significant other. Betty had come close but there was just something… extra about Clint. Bruce had never been in a relationship with someone like him. He had never had someone listen to ten minutes of Bruce rambling on about his day and then actually ask to hear the rest! That was insane! 

Bruce smiled and continued, telling Clint about when he’d told Steve and how he had reacted. Steve has gotten up, paced the room and then just come over and hugged Bruce. Bruce wasn’t expecting it but since Steve made the list for safe-touches, he didn’t mind it either. 

He talked a little about their lunch and then coming home to write and cook. 

“How’s that coming? You far along?” Clint asked with another painful-looking yawn. 

“I really feel like I should let you sleep, Clint.” 

“I’m fine. Besides, it’s only ten o’clock.” 

Bruce huffed but continued, taking Clint with him back to the kitchen so he could put his bowl away and clean up. He also started some hot water for tea. 

“I feel like I could be halfway finished. I know the ending and where I’m at now feels like a major plot development that will help push the rest of the story towards its end,” Bruce explained, still being vague about it. “It’s been coming along well the last couple of days though. It’s been really nice.” 

“Sounds it,” Clint said, his eyes shut and his words just above a mumble. 

“Clint,” Bruce said and he cracked open his eyes to look at the phone. “Go to sleep. Take your hearing aids out. I’ll see you tomorrow. Are you working tomorrow?” 

“Yep,” he groaned, rolling onto his side. “Gotta be on campus by seven.” 

“Yikes,” Bruce said, drying his hands off on a kitchen towel. “That’s what time I leave my house.” 

“Did you just say ‘yikes’?” Clint laughed, grinning into the camera. “I’m gonna anonymously submit that to your blog.” 

“Don’t you dare.” 

“Just try and stop me.”

“Don’t test me. I might just.” 

“I’d like to see that,” Clint said, his eyes closed again and the phone almost falling out of his hands. “Okay, I might have to hang up. I’m playing a losing game here.” 

“Get some rest. I’ll see you tomorrow. Goodnight, Clint.” 

“Night, cutie.” 

+

  
  


Bruce got to enjoy another night of deep, refreshing sleep. It wasn’t quite as nice as the one spent sleeping beside Clint but it was surely better than what he normally got. 

He was up a whole ten minutes before his alarm even went off so he browsed twitter for a bit and then slowly got up to start his day, heading for the shower. 

He grabbed everything for his lesson plans as well as his writing notebook in case some more inspiration hit randomly during the day, and then headed out in time to walk at a comfortable pace to catch his train and not have to run. 

It was cold again today and he knew it was only going to get colder. He pulled his beanie down and his scarf up, trying to shield his face from the stinging winds, grateful for the fact that the subway platform was always a few degrees warmer than outside. 

He felt like he was seeing the world through all new eyes. Instead of seeing the tired passengers he normally saw, there were people laughing and chatting. A few still napped but on the shoulder of other people. 

When he got to campus, it was a little empty but that was likely because it had started to rain and the only thing worse than being cold was being wet and cold and yet it couldn’t even touch Bruce’s good mood. 

He went to the cafe to get his usual coffee, leaving a generous tip today, and made his way to class via the halls instead of taking the outside route. He was humming, his coffee was perfect and he had even treated himself to a danish. 

He made it all the way to his lecture hall before realizing that the only thing that could’ve made the day even better had yet to happen. 

No Clint. 

But he was sure he would see him later in the day. He knew they would find each other at one point or another. 

Bruce was sitting on top of his desk, one leg swinging, eating his breakfast when students began to fill the room. It was 7:40 so he didn’t feel rushed to eat and waved at them as they came in. 

“Morning, P.B,” MJ called and Bruce narrowed his eyes, wondering if she was the author behind that post or if she had just checked the blog recently and decided she liked that nickname. She grinned at him and he was still unclear but he lifted the remnants of his danish to wave at her. 

“Michelle,” he said, smirking, and she rolled her eyes but smiled, a yawning Peter and Ned behind her. 

“Nǐ hǎo, Professor,” Ned said, speaking through his yawn and collapsing into his chair. Bruce greeted him back in a random language, it had become his thing with Ned on these early Monday mornings. 

Peter laid his head on his desk and didn’t raise it and not long after it was clear that he was asleep. The rest of the students came in and gathered in small groups to chat and Bruce made his way over to the trio. 

“He alright?” He asked, the danish gone and now just the coffee left to finish. 

“He stayed up way too late studying for his Linguistics exam this afternoon,” MJ explained, patting Peter’s back. 

“Yeah, little dude tuckered himself out,” Ned added and Bruce wondered briefly if the three of them lived together but felt that was too personal to ask. 

“Who’s his professor?” 

“Castle,” Michelle said with a sigh. 

“Oof,” Bruce said, getting a strange look from MJ and Ned. “Frank’s no joke. I’m sure he’ll do fine.” And then he realized they weren’t looking at him, but behind him to the back entrance of the lecture hall. Bruce turned a moment too late and yelped when arms wrapped around him. 

“Bruce!” Clint said happily, nuzzling his face in Bruce’s hair and the entire room went silent. The sound of a pin dropping would have been deafening. 

Bruce tensed and then relaxed. There was nothing wrong with this. He was an adult, everyone in the room was an adult or at least the beginning of one, and Bruce had never hid his sexuality. Not since coming out to Tony. He just didn’t advertise it either. 

Plus, this broke down another brick of self-doubt in Bruce’s mind—that Clint might want to be together behind closed doors but not in front of others and okay, these were just students but still. Clint didn’t even hesitate. 

“I was gonna wait for you at the main entrance but got called over to the dorms on a gross emergency,” Clint told him, pressing a kiss to Bruce’s cheek and MJ’s eyes nearly bugged out of her head. Ned was staring too, his mouth hanging open and Peter had actually woken up and looked incredibly confused and surprised. 

Bruce embraced it, smirking at MJ who seemed the most shocked, and then turned his head to kiss Clint briefly. 

“Good morning,” Bruce told him when they pulled apart. “Don’t worry. I was gonna text you anyway.” 

He led Clint over to his desk to talk away from nosy ears despite the room still being at zero volume. 

“Lunch today?” He asked, hooking his thumbs through Clint’s belt loops. 

Clint grinned, his hands cupped under Bruce’s elbows. “Of course.”

“I gotta start soon.” 

“I know. I just wanted to say hi. I’ll come pick you up at lunch.” Bruce nodded. “See you later. Oh, and have fun,” he said, indicating with his chin towards all of the curious, suddenly wide awake eyes focused on Bruce and Clint. 

Bruce sighed and gave Clint a look. “Yeah. Thanks for that.” 

“Anytime, cutie,” he said with a wink and a smile. 

“Cutie. That sticking?”

“Don’t like it?” 

“Actually, I do. It’s kinda odd but different. Good different.” 

“Yeah, well, so are you.” 

“Good different?” 

“No, odd.” 

Bruce grinned despite himself. “Get out of my lecture hall.” Clint leaned forward and stole another kiss, heading back to the stairs behind Bruce’s desk and out the door. 

Bruce looked down at his feet, leaning back against his desk, and he smiled, his heart racing. He cleared his throat and looked up at all the faces, some confused, others intrigued and still others nothing but unadulterated shock. Bruce’s trio were all caught somewhere in the middle of those three reactions. 

“Alright, so today’s lecture—”

“Professor Banner, man, come on. You know you gotta spill the beans,” Ned said and a few students laughed but most just nodded in agreement. 

Bruce readjusted his glasses and said, “You’re all aspiring writers in some shape or form. Make it up. Now, open your textbooks to page 190.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Bruce,” Betty said warmly and reached out to pull him into a very unexpected hug. He reciprocated, his hands rested high on her back. “I’m so glad you came. It’s nice to see you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i sincerely hope y’all have remembered that i have an angst tag 😬

“Professor B, please,” Ned pleaded after class was over. The lecture hall was mostly empty save for a few students hoping to overhear anything Ned managed to get out of Bruce and, of course, Ned’s ever-present shadows, Peter and MJ. 

“Not sure what it is you’re asking for, Mr Leeds,” Bruce said innocently, sorting through a stack of papers on his desk so he didn’t have to look at them. 

The doors closed and Bruce looked up to see that the room was now totally empty except for the four of them. He sighed and removed his glasses, cleaning them off on his sweater. 

“What do you want to know?” he said quietly and all three of them startled, turning to look at each other. 

“Are you gay?” Ned asked. 

“I’ll tell you,” Bruce began, his glasses sitting on his nose again now, “but I’d like anything shared right now not to end up on my blog or else this will be the last sharing session.” He leaned back against his desk and crossed his arms over his chest, looking at them sternly. 

“We promise,” Peter said and Ned and MJ nodded. 

“I’m bi.” 

“Called it, suckers. Pay up,” MJ said, holding her hand out and Peter and Ned both rolled their eyes. 

“I’ll get your coffee,” Peter said at the same time that Ned told her, “I don’t carry cash.” 

“How long’s that been a wager?” Bruce asked, curious. His eyes flickered up to his door but he didn’t see Clint yet. 

“Honestly? Since day one when you showed up in cuffed pants, koala-patterned socks, and a tucked in button-up. You’ve got big bisexual energy, P.B,” MJ explained. 

“Huh. Good to know,” he said, gathering his things because if Clint didn’t hurry up, they wouldn’t have time for their lunch. 

“So you and Clint, huh?” Ned asked. 

“It’s new,” Bruce said, trying to keep things neutral but even he could hear the excitement in his voice.

“Aw, Professor Banner, we’re really happy for you,” Peter said. “Also, this makes you a thousand times cooler.”

“Oh, for sure. Awkward and queer? You make us proud,” Ned said and Bruce chuckled, honestly flattered by the compliment. It was rare that those two aspects of who he was garnered a compliment. 

They continued talking as they walked up the stairs and out of the lecture hall. There was no sign of Clint anywhere. Bruce knew Peter was talking but he couldn’t focus on it. 

Where was Clint? 

The trio left him standing outside his room because they were almost late to class, promising him once more not to reveal the details of their chat to anyone and especially not on the blog. He waved as they went and then started making his way towards his office. Maybe that’s here Clint was picking him up from. 

Clint: hey, sorry, security duties call. I’m not gonna make lunch today :( 

Bruce: that’s ok. Tomorrow. See you later? 

Clint: hell yeah 

Bruce put his phone away and stared blankly at his desk. He needed food. He hadn’t brought anything with him. He thought about going to the cafe but he knew the likelihood of him running into a student who had just witnessed him kiss Clint was very high and he didn’t feel like dodging questions. 

Instead he bundled up and headed outside to Josue’s truck, which was parked right where it always was, a line formed in front of it despite the weather because his food was just that good. 

Bruce treated himself to more empanadas than he could eat—he figured he’d share the rest with Clint later—and went back to his office to enjoy his meal. He took out his notebook and decided to see if anything new came to him, an empanada in one hand and a pen in the other. 

“Shit,” he mumbled around the food in his mouth, searching for his vibrating phone. “Hello?” he asked, realizing one dreadful second later that he hadn’t checked the caller ID. 

“Hey, Bruce. You okay? You sound congested,” Maria Hill said. In the background Bruce could hear ‘The next train arriving is a downtown 6 train to Brooklyn Bridge’ and he smiled. For whatever reason, Maria never called him from a quiet location. 

He swallowed. “Yeah, just eating lunch.” 

“Oh, gotcha. Hold on.” The sound was muffled but he could quite clearly make out the sound of the turnstiles opening and closing and then it was quieter on the other end, save for the wind. “Okay, sorry about that. So, anyway, it’s been some time and I just wanted to check in and see where you’re at. I’ll take anything you can give me.” 

“Actually, I have some good news on that front,” he told her, amazed that his good mood had lasted nearly three whole days. “I think I could give you a completely finished draft by the end of the week.” 

“You’re kidding me.” 

“Not even a little bit.” 

“Oh my god, that’s wonderful! So you found some more inspiration? I’m so happy to hear it. Okay, that’s awesome. That’s—god, that makes my day, Bruce. You’re officially no longer my most stress-inducing client.” 

“Really? I’m almost reluctant to give up the title.” 

“Oh, god, believe me your slow progress will never truly be able to rival Reed’s aggravating insistence on absolute perfection,” Maria said and Bruce could hear the eye roll. “Anyway, since you’re in a good place, let me check in on the others. Can’t wait to read the draft, Bruce. Take care!” 

“Bye, Maria,” he said, always grateful that her calls were never drawn out with useless platitudes or filler conversation. So, so ideal. 

The rest of lunch flew by and his afternoon lecture was tolerable. He was hoping that since this bunch hadn’t been present for Clint’s visit that he would be able to get through the class without issue. Unfortunately, it seemed news had already spread. Bruce refused to check the blog no matter how strong the urge to know exactly what was spreading was. Despite their blatant nosiness, he made it through, deciding to answer two sexuality-related questions and then pointedly ignore the rest. 

He packed up quickly after class, telling the students waiting to talk to him that they could email him with any questions, queries, or concerns and then he was gone, making a bee-line for the front entrance and heading out to where he saw Clint stood by the crosswalk talking to one of the other security guards. He was changed out of his uniform and now back in his normal clothes, a backpack slung over one shoulder. 

“Hi,” Bruce said, stopping right beside him and Clint turned, surprised, and gave Bruce a smile so warm, so bright, that the cold barely registered. 

“Hey there,” Clint said but he didn’t kiss Bruce. Bruce frowned but turned his attention to the other man. 

“Hello, I’m Bruce,” Bruce said, extending his hand. He noticed Clint’s eyes fall to his hand and then Clint shook his head slowly, a disbelieving smile on his lips. 

“Thor,” the man said enthusiastically, shaking Bruce’s hand with a firmness and vigor he didn’t expect. “Nice to meet you, Bruce.” 

“Likewise, Thor.” 

“Well, my shift is about to start and you two should get somewhere warm. See you tomorrow, Barton,” Thor said, nodding at Bruce as well who gave him a polite smile. 

“See ya, Thor,” Clint told him. 

Once Thor was out of earshot, Clint turned back to Bruce and reached to pull Bruce’s hands out of his jacket pockets. 

“What’re you—”

“Bruce,” he said, “are you wearing mittens?” 

Bruce looked down at his hands. He hadn’t even thought anything of it, other than chuckling to himself because he knew Tony hated them. 

“Come here,” Clint said, using his grip on Bruce’s hands to pull him into a hug. He wrapped his arms around him and rested his chin on top of his head. Bruce closed his eyes, burying his face in Clint’s jacket and inhaling deeply. 

“So will mittens always get me cuddles?” Bruce asked. 

“Yes, because they’re cute as hell. Do you not get how cute they are?” Clint said, pulling back so they could both focus on Bruce’s mittens. “They have ducks on them for crying out loud. Ducks.” 

“They were a gift from a student,” Bruce told him, holding them up between them. “And they’re warm.” 

Clint smiled and wrapped an arm around Bruce’s waist, turning them so they could cross the street and head for the subway. 

“I’m glad you’re warm. You’re just also cute as hell, okay? You just—you just gotta accept it, man.” 

“I’ll take cute but, you know,” Bruce said, looking up at Clint and getting distracted by his jawline for two seconds, “I’m not as innocent as you all seem to think.” 

“Funny enough, I’ve been thinking about that ever since you mentioned it Sunday. I was thinking maybe today I could come over… maybe find out.” His voice dropped at least an octave as he spoke and sent a shiver down Bruce’s spine that had absolutely nothing to do with the wind. “That alright?” 

“Well, you know me—social butterfly. Let me check my calendar. Make sure I don’t have any raves planned for tonight first,” Bruce said dryly and Clint laughed. “Oh look all free.” 

“Good, then—”

“Oh, hey, wait. Oh, sorry.” 

“Nah, go ahead.” 

“I thought you worked night shifts on Mondays?” 

Bruce recognized Clint’s smile from the thousands of times that exact same smile had been on his own face. It was the smile that resulted from someone remembering something you said about yourself, especially if it was just an offhand comment. 

“I do, normally. But I asked Thor if he would switch with me, which is why I worked the morning today,” Clint explained. “But I do have the early shift again tomorrow, so if you are planning a rave I might just sit in a corner and watch you mingle.” 

“Oh god, no. Please never watch me socialize. You might forget what it is that you like about me.” 

“Is it any worse than being a direct recipient of your socializing?” Clint’s grin only grew when Bruce shot him a glare. 

“I’m gonna pretend I didn’t hear that,” Bruce said, trying not to smile at the sound of Clint’s laughter as they headed downstairs to the train. “So early shift tomorrow. Does that mean quiet night in or would you want to go to Nat’s?” 

“Hm,” he said, tapping his hand to his chin and while he thought he grabbed Bruce’s hand out of his jacket pocket again and held it, mittens and all. Bruce thought he might faint with the way his heart was beating. “Nat’s sounds pretty good.” 

“My place first? I’d like to drop off my laptop.” Clint nodded and they got on the train. 

It was packed and didn’t leave a lot of space for conversation, at least not conversation Bruce really wanted to have. He didn’t want to talk about anything too intimate while on the train but especially not with everyone around him able to hear every word. 

It was nice though, for once, being on a crowded train. Normally, he absolutely despised it and would purposefully miss a few until a less packed one came along or ride at one of the far ends to ensure no one was touching him or bumping into him. Not this time and it was because of Clint. 

They got on the train and Clint pushed his way to a corner on the opposite side of the open doors, Bruce’s back to the wall and Clint standing in front of him like a human barrier from everyone else. Bruce wasn’t sure Clint had already anticipated how Bruce might feel or if this was something he always did but damn if it didn’t make Bruce like him even more. 

After a moment, he leaned forward and rested his head on Clint’s chest, closing his eyes. Clint had unzipped his jacket on the hot train and Bruce slipped his arm inside, curling it around Clint’s waist and holding on tight. 

They hadn’t established any elements of their relationship yet other than the fact that they wanted to be in each others’ lives and that they liked each other but still Bruce felt so very comfortable with this man. It was such a rare feeling for him and he found himself wanting to push the limits and see just how far that comfort extended. 

Sex was one thing but hugs, embraces, and hand-holding? Completely different category. Sex was not always necessarily intimate. It could be detached and meaningless very easily, even in a committed relationship. And non-sexual touches, of course, did not always carry a heavy level of intimacy either but between the two and on average, Bruce found non-sexual touches so much more intimate in the few relationships he’d been in. 

A caress across the cheek, someone playing with his fingers, something as simple as holding onto the man he liked while they rode the subway together; it made Bruce feel so open and vulnerable because it let others know that his desire for them went beyond a primal sexual lust. It spilled over into affection, into attachment, and with those always came the possibility of being hurt. 

It brought to mind his least favorite quote in the whole entire world: ‘falling in love is like giving someone a loaded gun pointed at your heart and trusting them not to pull the trigger.’

He hated it because it was true and he hated it because it wasn’t. Yes, falling in love and being hurt by that person was painful, excruciatingly so, but there was an advantage to the gun that the actual situation didn’t have—a gunshot to the heart would kill you but a broken heart would only feel like you had died and you’d be left to live with the pain. 

Bruce lifted his head, feeling his anxiety bubble up due to his own dark thoughts, and he blinked and then squinted in the sudden brightness of the train carriage.

“You okay?” Clint asked, worried lines etched into his features, his eyes scanning Bruce for the problem. 

Bruce nodded, still feeling breathless. He felt like he couldn’t quite catch his breath, every inhale shallow and insufficient but it wasn’t bad enough to cancel their evening. He knew it would pass by the time they got to his apartment. 

Clint leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Bruce’s forehead and, honestly? It helped. It didn’t completely calm his racing heart or shallow breaths, but it definitely helped. Wasn’t that something? 

“So what’s in the backpack, Dora?” 

“Ha-ha, funny,” Clint said, dropping the bag by the door as he shed his winter layers. “It’s my overnight bag.” 

Bruce pulled his sweater off over his head, his shirt underneath wrinkled, and turned to Clint, raising an amused eyebrow. “Oh? So someone was very confident that they would be invited over tonight, huh? Changing your shift, packing clothes. You think you’ve got some sort of spell over me, don’t you, Iowa?” 

“Maybe,” he grinned, coming over to stand in Bruce’s space, grab him and pull him even closer. He tilted his head down enough that their breath mingled. “I do think I remember a certain someone calling me beautiful.” 

“Who? They sound nice.” 

Clint snorted and kissed him. “Sure do,” he agreed, kissing him again, deepening it and closing his eyes. 

“Wait,” Bruce said, his hands slipping up between them to push Clint back some. “If we start that I won’t ever leave. And also I’d, uh… I wanna talk a little. About us. Before we jump into bed again.” 

“Sure,” Clint said, placing one more quick peck right between Bruce’s eyebrows. He went back over to his bag and picked it up. “Can I leave this in your bedroom?”

Bruce nodded and Clint disappeared. Bruce used the few short moments to collect his thoughts. He had a vague idea of what he wanted to say and what he hoped to get out of this conversation and he hoped Clint would be on board with it but he was open to compromise. 

“Okay,” Clint said, coming back into the room and plopping down onto the couch beside Bruce. 

Bruce swallowed. Why was this so hard? Why was talking so much harder than just doing? 

“I, uh… I’d kind of like to take this slow,” he said, forcing himself to look up and meet Clint’s eyes. “It’s been an embarrassingly long time since I was in anything serious and I just don’t wanna fuck this up. Having said that though, I would like to be exclusive. Okay, your turn.” 

“Agreed.” 

“What?” Bruce nearly gasped. 

Clint shrugged. “I mean, I’d like to go into detail about exactly what slow means but otherwise I feel the same. I’m a little out of practice with relationships as well and I want this one to work. And I really don’t want to share you with anyone.” He laughed but Bruce could tell he was serious and should that have turned him on a little? Should a healthy level of possessiveness be a turn on? He felt like the answer was yes but he also knew that it could be his inner sub reveling in the feeling. 

“Wow, okay, um.” Bruce laughed nervously. “I was expecting a little bit more back and forth on those terms, I hadn’t mentally prepared my next part yet,” he admitted. 

“Well, I can go.” Bruce nodded, grateful. “I think having our own space, our own time apart, is good. We don’t have to do everything together.” 

“Definitely,” Bruce said. “And we don’t have to label it yet. Or ever, if you don’t want to.” 

“Well,” Clint said, dragging the word out. “I know we haven’t been on an official date yet—”

“I’m pretty sure that our lunch dates count even if neither of us knew that the other wanted them to,” Bruce threw in with a laugh. 

“Very true. Lemme rephrase. So since we’ve been on about fifty dates, I would kind of like to call you my boyfriend. But if you don’t want a label—”

“I want it,” Bruce said and he knew it was too quick and yet... he did not care one bit because Clint just smiled and nodded, happy. 

“So, uh, is sex still on the table?” 

“It can be on the table, the couch, wherever you want it,” Bruce said, batting his lashes innocently at Clint who swallowed with some effort, his fingers twitching like he wanted to reach out and pull Bruce to him. 

They stayed like that for a moment. Just staring at each other, both of them obviously wanting each other but neither wanting to be the first to give in. Bruce wasn’t even sure they were done with this discussion but it felt like a good place to leave it. As far as he was concerned, they had covered the most important parts and anything else they could figure out as they went along. 

“Do you still wanna go to—” 

“No,” Clint said, practically launching himself across the couch to kiss Bruce. 

  
  


Bruce felt a soft whimper escape him as he readjusted himself, scooting up further to rest his head on Clint’s shoulder and press a kiss to his jaw. He was sore in all the right places and knew that tomorrow would be even worse and he couldn’t wait. 

Clint chuckled. “You alright?” 

“Never better, why?” 

“Well, to tell you the truth, that’s the first time anyone’s asked me to leave handprints on their ass.” 

“I’m happy I still get to be some of your firsts,” Bruce said with a smile, nuzzling more into Clint’s side and throwing an arm and leg across his body. “Does it bother you?” 

“No. I just wanna make sure I don’t overdo it since it’s so new to me.” 

“What happened to ‘varied sexual encounters’?” 

“You know, there’s a lot to experience out there and I did experience a lot. Just never someone quite like you.” 

He knew Clint was talking about his sex preferences but Bruce liked to think Clint just meant that about him in general. 

“Well, now you have. What do you think of him?” 

Clint inhaled deeply, his hand on Bruce’s back as his fingers danced lightly up and down his spine. “I like him a lot. He’s really smart but also kinda dumb because he keeps sneakily trying to see if I’m gonna say I don’t like him when we both know that’s not happening.” 

“Caught me red-handed,” Bruce laughed weakly, lifting his head to look up at Clint. “Just been kinda unlucky in love. Still wrapping my head around the idea that this isn’t all going to be gone when I wake up.” He raised his hand and ran it through Clint’s hair, dropping it down to stroke his stubbly cheeks. 

“Well, maybe I can do something about that. What say we have some dinner, watch a movie and hopefully in the morning you’ll be expecting me to be here this time?” 

“I’m thinking I would like that very much.” 

  
  


+

  
  


The rest of the week went by quickly. Bruce and Clint found a good rhythm that worked for them, a balance of lunches and nights spent together. If Clint spent the night, he usually left without Bruce, seeing as he had to be on campus earlier but they’d also decided that personal time—especially for two people who were not happy morning people—was good for them. 

Bruce could tell his students were still on the brink of explosion from all their questions about his personal life, but he still refused to indulge them. He was also avidly avoiding his blog because he did not even need to know that fan fiction about himself and Clint might exist, let alone actually see it. That was the stepping off point for him between appreciation and uncomfortable obsession. 

He managed to find the time and the motivation in between time spent with Clint, teaching, and time spent updating Tony on his love life, to actually finish the first draft of his book. He printed it off at work and personally delivered it to Maria along with an editable version he gave her on a USB. 

He felt accomplished. 

For the first time in much too long, everything in his life was going well. Normally he would stress out about that but he was trying his hardest to be more accepting and less suspicious of good things in his life. 

The only thing not wonderful that was happening was the wedding drawing closer. Having Clint as an established person in his life, as his boyfriend, made it easier to deal with his anxiety over it but he was still nervous about seeing Betty again, seeing her father, meeting her new husband. 

“You’ll look fabulous, you’ve got a hot new man in your life, I’ll be there, what’s left to worry about?” Tony asked, sipping his iced coffee and Bruce had no idea how he managed to enjoy a cold coffee when it was snowing outside. 

“I don’t know just…” He waved his hand vaguely. “Stuff.” 

“Hm, can you share a more definitive answer with the class, please?” 

Bruce shrugged, lifting his hot chocolate to his lips. “I dunno. I guess… I’m actually excited to see her after all these years. Wonder what she’ll look like. If she’ll recognize me immediately.” 

“If she doesn’t recognize you, she may have a condition she doesn’t know about.” Tony shook his head and said, “It’ll be fine. You know it, I know it and if it isn’t, you still know you’re coming back home with someone who loves you very much to see a bunch of people who also care about you.” 

Bruce looked up from his hot chocolate as Tony spoke, his expression softening and the worries quieting down. 

“Aw, Tony,” Bruce said, his smile turning teasing as he reached across the table to poke him. “Look at you. Saying big emotions and all.” 

“I have my days. Speaking of emotions, how’s the boyfriend?”

Bruce beamed at the sound of that word. 

“He’s well. He’s hanging out with Nat today. Gosh, I really like this one, Tony.” 

“Before I delve further into that, I’d like to make note of your unironic use of the word ‘gosh.’” Bruce rolled his eyes and Tony smirked, continuing. “And now back to Barton, I can tell. You sound like me when I talk about Steve. Taking things slow still working for you guys?” 

“Yeah. It’s perfect. I think it’s just what we both needed. And how are things with Steve?” 

“I asked him to move in.” 

“What!” Bruce gasped, choking on his drink. “Tony! How on earth did you keep that in for so long?” 

“Believe me, I’ve been over here developing new muscles with how tightly I’ve been tensed.” 

“That should’ve been the first thing we talked about! To hell with my wedding nerves. Wait, what did he say?” 

Tony was chewing his bottom lip and at Bruce’s question he broke out into a bright, happy grin. “He said yes. Can you believe it? He said—he’s moving in with me, Bruce? That’s wild, right? It’s wild. I can’t even wrap my mind around it.” 

“Tell me everything. When and where and how did you ask?” 

  
  


+

  
  


“Hey, what was that about?” Bruce asked. 

Clint crawled into the booth beside him and sighed. “Ah, Nat’s just mad at me. It’s nothing new.” 

“Nothing new?” Bruce asked, looking back over at Natasha who turned away when she met his eyes and went to the back. He hadn’t seen her in a while. He’d come to the bar a few times but she hadn’t been there, only Steve and Sam, and now here she was but apparently she was in a bad mood. 

“It’s really not,” Steve said, leaning against the booth beside Tony, his fingers absently scratching through Tony’s hair. “She treats us all like idiot brothers—”

“Which, to be fair, isn’t always an inaccurate description,” Clint added. 

“He’s right. So what did you do?” 

“I don’t even know. It’s probably obvious and I’ll figure it out soon enough or Okoye will call me,” Clint said with a shrug, his eyes darting over to Nat and then back to their table. 

Bruce glanced at Tony who lifted one single eyebrow, neither of them convinced that Clint didn’t really know what he’d done but if it was between them, it was between them. 

“Anyway, you guys fly out tomorrow, right?” Steve asked, checking over his shoulder when laughter erupted at the table behind theirs. He was working but had stopped to talk. 

“Yeah, 5am flight,” Tony said with a groan. “I regret booking that so early.” 

“You all packed?” Clint asked. 

Bruce nodded and laughed. “Been packed since Monday.” 

“And you’re—”

“Steve!” Sam called from the bar, waving him over. 

“Oh, back in a sec,” Steve said, leaving. 

“You know,” Tony said, watching Steve leave and changing the subject. He turned to face Clint. “This almost counts as a double date. We should do one of those officially when we’re back.” 

“We should,” Bruce agreed, taking Clint’s hand. Clint looked down at their fingers and smiled but it was sad. It was a sadness Bruce had come to recognize and categorize as separate from normal sadness. It belonged to a certain topic, a certain thing, and Bruce still didn’t know exactly to whom or to what. He just knew that it showed up on Clint’s face and in his eyes and it would eventually pass. Maybe it had something to do with why Nat was upset. 

When Clint looked up, sure enough, there was the sadness in his eyes as well. “Yeah, that sounds great. Anything specific in mind?” 

“Well, you and Steve both like sport so maybe sport,” Tony said. 

“Sport? Singular?” Clint asked, smiling. 

“I know nothing about them except that balls are involved and that little tidbit of information was a lot less interesting to me when someone explained what kind of balls exactly,” Tony explained. 

Clint laughed, definitely not expecting that, and Bruce smiled. It was nice to see him and Tony getting along. There had been some tension between them at first and Bruce had worried about Tony’s very acquired-taste personality fitting well with Clint’s but the more he got to know Clint the more he realized how similar the two of them actually were. 

“Maybe we can save the sports date for baseball season. I’m not really up for freezing my ass off to watch the Giants,” Clint said. 

“And when is baseball season? They have seasons?” Tony asked. 

“I also wanted to ask that,” Bruce said and Clint sighed. 

“Oh, sweet nerds. Okay, so baseball,” Clint began and Bruce was half-listening but also just watching Clint talk. 

Bruce knew exactly how he felt about Clint even if he wasn’t quite ready to say it out loud. He had spent weeks observing the man, seeing how sincerely he tried to make the people he spoke to happy. Then he’d watched him interact with the students, learned how much they liked him and trusted him. He’d spent lunch after lunch in his company getting to know him and just seeing the way his presence lit up a space and brought smiles to people’s faces. 

Bruce knew that, just like with Ronin, he was in love with Clint. There was no denying it and he wasn’t really trying to deny it. He was just waiting for the right time to tell him. 

  
  


“If you ask me if I forgot anything one more time, Banner,” Tony snapped, very unhappy to be awake so early. “I’ll deck you right here. I mean it.” 

Bruce snorted, equally as grumpy about being awake with an extra sprinkling of nerves because he also didn’t like flying. 

“I’d like to see you try,” he snapped right back. They glared at each other for a few seconds and then Bruce huffed and rested his head on Tony’s shoulder while they waited for boarding to begin. 

Tony lifted his arm to wrap around Bruce and yawned, patting his shoulder. “We’ll knock out and be there before you know it.” 

+

“Jesus,” Bruce swore. “My hands are sweaty.” 

“You’d think you were getting married today,” Tony said, tying his tie. 

Bruce stared at himself in the mirror, brushed his hair again to make sure it stayed where it was supposed to and then straightened his tie for the thirtieth time. 

It was the day of the wedding. Friday they had spent exploring. It had been years since Bruce had been to Los Angeles and Tony took it upon himself to give him a personal tour and show him all his favorite spots that he went to when he was there for work. It had really helped to take his mind off everything. That and frequent texts from Clint, asking for updates or Bruce sending pictures of stuff he thought Clint might like. 

They’d ended the night with a walk along Venice Beach. It was empty because it was cold for Californians but being New Yorkers, Bruce and Tony walked along in t-shirts and felt perfectly fine, stopping at the Santa Monica pier to check out the arcade and then head for dinner. 

Now it was Saturday, wedding day. The ceremony began at eleven and Bruce knew they had a thirty-minute drive to their location but Tony had warned him that they should give themselves an hour because of traffic. That also helped put Bruce’s mind at ease. 

“How do I look?” 

“Like you’re about to present the Oscars.” 

“Really, Tony. Is it alright?” 

Tony finished dressing himself and then came over to do last minute checks for his anxious best friend. 

“I promise. You look great,” he said warmly and Bruce nodded. “And me?” 

“Like a million bucks. Like always.” 

“Aw, shucks,” Tony said, getting a smile out of Bruce. “There it is. Okay, now keep that little shy smile right where it is for the next couple hours and you’ll be just fine.” 

  
  


The ceremony itself was beautiful. It was in a large hall downtown, decorated in soft pastel tones that the bridesmaids also wore. Betty, well. Betty looked just as beautiful as Bruce remembered. Her hair was longer and she must’ve been wearing contacts, but otherwise she looked every bit the same woman Bruce remembered as she walked down the aisle in her lovely dress. 

Her husband Bruce didn’t recognize, although he had been curious to know if he would. If perhaps it was a name he’d forgotten but someone they might have gone to school with. He had never really asked Betty about him. 

He and Tony decided to attend the reception because they had come all that way and Betty had given Bruce a little smile as she and her husband walked back down the aisle together through the audience. His nerves were gone and now he just wanted to congratulate her and have a chance to talk to her again. 

“Nice suit,” the man beside him said, stacking finger foods onto his plate. Bruce turned to see the dark haired guy giving him a wide, friendly smile. “Loving the burgundy.” 

“Uh, thanks. I like yours too.” 

“Appreciate it.” He wiped his hand off and extended it to Bruce. “Scott. Scott Lang.” 

“Bruce Banner.” 

“Nice to meet you, Bruce. Bride or groom?”

“Bride.” 

“Oh, nice. Me too. How do you know Betty?” 

“We went to college together.” 

“Oh, wow. So way back,” Scott said, taking a bite of something on his plate. Bruce wasn’t sure what it was because he had stacked everything in a little pile and it had all just… mushed together as the pile got heavier. 

“And you?” 

“Oh, my girlfriend, Hope, Betty, and I have worked together for a few years. That’s actually how I met my girlfriend,” Scott said, pointing with what Bruce thought looked like a shrimp towards another pretty, dark-haired woman who was talking to Everett, Betty’s younger brother who Bruce had never liked. Smug little shit. “Yeah, so I’m engineering, Hope’s physics and Betty’s, well, you know what Betty does. So what do you do?” 

“I’m an English professor at Shield University,” Bruce said, tearing his attention away from Everett and wondering where Tony had gotten off to. Scott was nice but Bruce wasn’t really here to make friends. 

“Oh, nice. That’s not an easy place to get hired at I hear. Brooklyn, right?” Bruce nodded. “Oh, hey! I—do you know James Barnes? He works there.” 

“Bucky?”

“Yeah, dark hair, crazy scary? Married to Sam?” 

“Yeah,” Bruce said, smiling more genuinely now. How the hell did this random man know Bucky and Sam? “Yeah, we’re good friends.” 

“Well, if you know them, you must know the whole gang?” 

“Yeah, Clint, Steve, Nat, Okoye,” Bruce listed off, smiling now because he could talk about Clint with someone. “Yeah, I know them all.” 

“Oh, that’s awesome. And Clint! How’s he? I miss him, man,” Scott said, shaking his head sadly. Scott was getting more interesting by the second. 

“Good, I think. He’s hard to read sometimes,” Bruce said, deciding not to immediately say they were together just in case Scott was the ‘someone’ who used to be in Clint’s life. 

“Ain’t that the truth,” he agreed, a hand on his hip. “How’s he doing with the whole, you know, situation? He was really broken up over what happened. I remember it used to hit him hard some days.” 

It didn’t seem like Scott was the ex. 

“He doesn’t really talk to me about it,” Bruce said, and he knew it would be awful to get information from Scott that Clint obviously didn’t want to share but he was just so damn curious. “Seems more Nat and Bucky’s territory.” And that wasn’t totally a lie if Thanksgiving was anything to go by. 

“Yeah. Just sucks. He came out to stay with me after, uh, everything went down. My apartment’s felt empty ever since he went back.” Scott looked over at Betty, then back at Bruce, and then his eyes widened. “Hey, by the way, you wouldn’t happen to be college ex-boyfriend Bruce who lives in New York?” 

“Oh,” Bruce startled, “yeah, I, uh, I would be.” 

“Gosh,” Scott said and Bruce almost dragged him over to Tony to prove that people did still say ‘gosh’ unironically but then again, Scott seemed like a unique type of person. “Betty talks about you a lot. Have you gone to see her yet?” 

“No, not—”

“Dad!” one of the flower girls called, skipping over to Scott and Bruce in her pretty pink dress. “Oh, hi.” She waved up at Bruce and he waved back. 

“Hey, peanut, what’s up?” 

“Hope told me to come get you so we can take pictures,” she said, taking his hand when he offered it to her. 

“Duty calls,” Scott said, grinning down at his daughter and then at Bruce. “Nice to meet you, by the way, Bruce. Let’s swap contacts later. Always nice making new friends.” He said it so sincerely and so eagerly that Bruce was left with no choice but to believe he meant all of that. 

“Definitely,” Bruce told him because Scott didn’t seem to have a single bad bone in his body. 

“I know you’re feeling yourself in that Bordeaux-colored suit, Professor, but you are a happily coupled man,” Tony said, appearing out of nowhere with a glass of champagne in one hand and his phone in the other. 

“And where have you been?” 

“Spotted some people from my LA office here. Betty works for one of the research companies we do business with,” Tony explained. “So I went to mingle and network.” 

“Wow, I hope you’re getting paid overtime.” 

“I might just bill all of this as company expenses,” Tony said and Bruce honestly wasn’t sure if he was joking or not. “Anyway, you made a friend. Good for you.” 

“He knows Clint.” 

“Of course he does. Of course the one person you actually strike up a conversation with knows your boyfriend. How on earth does he know Clint?” 

“He knows them all. I don’t know how. But remember how I told you Clint was gone and Bucky said he’d come back?” Tony nodded. “Scott is who he stayed with.” 

“It’s an even smaller world than we thought,” Tony mused, sipping his champagne. “So what about your interaction has got you looking so green under the gills?” 

“He vaguely mentioned whatever happened with Clint.” 

“Ah. The forbidden subject.” 

“Yep.” 

“Gonna probe him for more?” 

“Nope.” 

“Really? Proud of you. I was gonna quote Rhodey but, as of late, Steve has become my conscience and he would definitely approve of you not digging without Clint’s knowledge.” 

Bruce hummed in agreement. He still wanted to but there was no way he was starting their relationship off with a betrayal of trust. 

“Wanna go see Betty?” Bruce asked. 

“Sure do. Let’s go.” 

They walked over to the bride who was surrounded by a small group of people complimenting her and hugging her. Bruce cleared his throat once he was close enough, leaning over to gently touch her arm and then he immediately pulled his hand away. He was fully aware of how it might look for Betty’s ex to do anything at all, let alone linger in a touch, and he wasn’t here to offend anyone. 

Betty turned, her smile as breathtaking as Bruce remembered, and her blue eyes bright and okay, maybe Bruce had a thing for blue eyes that he’d never known about until this very moment. 

“Bruce,” she said warmly and reached out to pull him into a very unexpected hug. He reciprocated, his hands rested high on her back. “I’m so glad you came. It’s nice to see you.” 

“You too, Betty,” he said, putting a little space between them. “The wedding was beautiful and you even more so. I mean, well, you are but I’m just—”

She waved away his nervous rambling. “I know what you meant. I never forgot how to recognize the Banner Ramble.” 

Bruce chuckled, startling only slightly when Tony stepped up closer. 

“Um, I believe I was the one who coined that phrase,” Tony said. 

“Tony! Look at you!” Betty pulled him in as well for a hug. “Neither of you have aged a day.” 

“I feel like I have,” Tony joked. “And look at you, Dr. Ross, very chic.” He took her hand and let her twirl, always the hype-man of their group back in the day. Betty blushed but spun, laughing as she did. 

“Well, actually, it’s Dr. Ross-Talbot now.” 

“Oh? Hyphenated? I like it.” 

“Well,” Betty said, leaning in to both of them to whisper conspiratorially, “my husband didn’t spend the better part of his twenties earning his doctorate.” She looked over at where he was standing talking to Scott now who, bless him, looked bored. Bruce might just end up being good friends with that man. “He’s a good guy though,” she said quietly, seemingly more to herself than to them. 

“We’re happy for you, Betty,” Bruce told her. “Thank you for inviting us. It was nice to see you again.” Bruce couldn’t help it, he looked over her shoulder just in case. 

Betty followed his line of sight and said, “He won’t bother you.” 

“Ah, so he was planning to.” 

“Yes,” she laughed. “But I promised he could pick the song for our father-daughter dance so long as he left you and Tony alone. So, Bruce, what about you? Got anyone special waiting for you to get back?” 

“I—”

“He sure does,” Tony cut in, patting Bruce’s arm. “His lovely boyfriend, Clint.” 

“Oh!” 

“Oh?” Tony said, confused by Betty’s tone. 

Bruce sighed and shot Tony a glare. “I never told her.” He turned back to Betty. “I’m bisexual. And yes, I have a boyfriend. It’s very new, very recent.” 

“I’m sorry to butt in here but did you say Clint is your boyfriend?” Scott asked, leaving Betty’s husband Glenn in the middle of a sentence to come over and talk to the three of them. “As in Clint Barton?” 

“Yeah, why?” Tony asked and Bruce glared again, hating when Tony spoke for him. Tony gave him an apologetic smile. 

“Yes. He is. We’ve only recently started dating,” Bruce answered. 

“Huh. Okay, that’s… didn’t know that,” Scott said, his eyebrows pulling together in a frown, completely oblivious to the situation. 

“Yeah, thanks a million there. That’s exactly what everyone wants to hear from their boyfriend’s friends,” Tony said dryly and Scott needed a moment to pick up on what he’d done wrong before it registered on his face. 

“Sorry. I didn’t—you know, I think they’re bringing out more of those little bacon things. Hey, Bets, great reception. You look gorgeous,” he told her, pressing a kiss to her cheek and quickly retreating.

Bruce was doing everything in his power to keep his smile on his face. 

“Betty!” A voice both familiar and terrible to Bruce called out and Bruce looked over to see none other than Thaddeus Ross in the flesh. He hadn’t aged well, his hair more salt than pepper and his face leathery, tired. 

He glared daggers at Bruce but smiled when his daughter turned around. Bruce wasn’t in the mood to care. He had bigger issues than this irrelevant man and his hatred for Bruce. 

Why did Scott say it like that? What was Bruce missing? 

“You alright?” Tony asked, handing Bruce his half of their airport snack purchases. 

Bruce had been quiet the rest of the reception, smiling when he should but otherwise zoned out, in his own world. Tony didn’t make a fuss of it or try to constantly pull him back to reality and Bruce appreciated it. 

They’d taken a few pictures, said their goodbyes and left before the party truly started. They spent the evening along the beach again, just talking about nothing in particular. Tony would mention a project he was working on and Bruce would bring up a highlight from his past week of classes. Tony was all caught up with Bruce’s favorite trio and what they were up to and if Bruce didn’t really mention Clint, well, Tony pretended not to notice. 

“Just thinking.” 

“What about, Brukraine?” 

“Okay,” Bruce laughed, “that was a good one.” Tony smiled, always seeming happy to put a smile on Bruce’s face when there wasn’t one. 

“You think Scott’s the ex?” 

“No. Scott said Clint came to stay with him after whatever happened. And even if whatever happened is unrelated to Clint’s ex, Scott said he met his girlfriend through his job. His daughter seems too comfortable with the woman for it to be a recent thing,” Bruce said, thinking back to the way his little girl had skipped over from the woman, Hope. 

“Okay, then what?” 

“Scott knows I’m Betty’s ex but he doesn’t know I’m Clint’s current. Just kind of feels like it should be the other way around,” Bruce said, knowing that it probably sounded petty. Clint wasn’t required to shout about their relationship from the rooftops or broadcast a text to all of his friends about it. 

“Maybe he and Clint aren’t as close as Scott thinks. Maybe they just don’t talk that much. I mean, have you told all your friends?” 

Bruce snorted. “I only have a handful and yes, they all know. I even called Rhodey this week.” 

“Yeah, he told me—oh, okay, maybe I see your point.” 

Bruce shrugged. “I dunno. I mean, I know this is just me overthinking and turning a mountain into a molehill. I just want to get it off my chest so at least it’s not just rattling around up here driving me crazy.” He tapped on his forehead. 

“And you know me, always here for your latest crazy conspiracy or outlandish idea.” 

Bruce laughed. “On that note, tell me more about Steve moving in. How did you decide on your apartment?” 

Tony scoffed like that was the funniest question he’d ever heard. “Have you seen Steve’s apartment? It looks like The Great Depression.” 

  
  


+

  
  


Bruce Banner did not believe in fate. He did not truly believe in superstition. He believed in coincidences and random events and not everything being connected or meant to be. He didn’t believe in soulmates except for on a platonic level and he did not believe in fairytale endings. 

But despite all of this preparation to expect the unexpected, he was still shocked when the unexpected turned out to be a worst case scenario. And honestly, it wasn’t even a worse case scenario Bruce himself had thought of on their plane ride home but it definitely fit the bill. 

“Get off, get off” he shouted, shoving Clint away from him. He rolled off the bed and stalked towards the bathroom, slamming the door shut, and leaning against it as he slid to the floor, not even caring that he was sat on the cold tile bare ass naked. 

His head dropped into his hands and he forced himself to take deep breaths but it wasn’t working, he still felt himself struggling for air as his throat constricted and his chest tightened. He felt an awful lump in the pit of his stomach making him nauseous and he didn’t know if he wanted to cry or yell. 

When he finally got himself to calm down, he exhaled heavily and leaned his head back, closing his eyes. 

“Bruce?” Clint called from the other side of the door, knocking softly and Bruce flinched and wrapped his arms around himself. 

He felt grimy. He felt disgusting, like he needed to shower, and the last thing he wanted was for Clint to touch him. He was angry he didn’t know what to do. Angry and hurt. 

“Bruce, please, it was an accident. It doesn’t mean anything. Open the door. I’m sorry.” 

“Please just go.” 

“Bruce—”

“Please.” He was trying not to yell anymore. He wanted to break his habit. 

Bruce listened and heard the moment when Clint walked away from the door. He listened carefully and could hear the sound of Clint gathering his clothes and then eventually he heard the door shut. 

He pulled his knees in close and let his forehead fall onto them, refusing to let tears come. He tried to level his breathing out again and hours later he woke up on the bathroom floor, forced himself to shower and went to get his phone. He texted Clint and then he texted Tony. 

**Bruce** : you up ? 

**Tony** : always 

Bruce checked the time. It was almost 3am. 

**Bruce** : Steve there? 

**Tony** : nope which is probably why I can’t sleep 

**Bruce** : can I come over? 

**Tony** : what’s wrong, Bruce? 

**Bruce** : please ? 

**Tony** : yeah ofc, come on 

Bruce got dressed in his pajamas and made his way across the hall to Tony’s, unlocking the door and navigating the apartment just fine in the pitch dark. He saw a light at the end of Tony’s hallway and headed for it, pushing open the door to his bedroom to find him sitting up with his laptop in front of him, holding his phone. 

“Jesus. Nightmares? Wait, wasn’t Clint over tonight?” 

Bruce nodded and climbed onto the bed, sliding under the covers. He rested his head beside Tony’s thigh because he was fairly sure that was Steve’s pillow and didn’t want to make things weird. 

Tony’s hand dropped into Bruce’s hair. 

“Bruce, you’re freaking me out. What happened?” 

“We were kissing, about to have sex,” he began, doing his best not to let his voice crack because he just didn’t want to cry. It had been so long since he’d cried and he wasn’t going to cry over this. “And I said I loved him.” 

“Yikes. Too early? Did he not say it back?” 

“No, he did—”

“Oh, then what—”

“He just didn’t say it to me.” 

“Come again?” 

“He looked me in my eyes and said ‘I love you too, Phil.’” 

“Who the fuck is Phil,” Tony snarled, his fingers scratching Bruce’s scalp soothingly. 

“I don’t know.” 

“You didn’t ask?” 

“I was too angry.” 

“I would’ve been too,” Tony said, shocked. At least it was shocking for Tony too. At least it wasn’t another case of Bruce not noticing things until it was too late. 

“What’s next?” 

“I’m not… I’m not gonna break up with him. I texted him before you, told him I needed to work through that and that maybe we can talk.” 

Bruce felt Tony’s hand stop moving in his hair and then resumed scratching. It was quiet in the room, no sound other than the soft whirr of Tony’s laptop fan. 

“Really?” 

“You wouldn’t give Steve a chance? To explain, at least?” 

“No, I would,” Tony began. “I’m sure this is just a slip, you know? It doesn’t necessarily mean he’s thinking of that person and not you. It could be subconscious. Maybe his emotional wires just got crossed.” 

“Yeah,” Bruce breathed, though he wasn’t that comforted by Tony’s words. 

Tony grabbed Bruce and pulled him closer, resting his head on his thigh. Bruce went willingly, grateful for the extra contact. 

“It just… god, it hurt so much. I was so excited for the first three words and then that name just… it was like a stab right to the heart.” 

Like a gunshot, he thought. 

“I can only imagine,” Tony told him, rubbing his arm reassuringly. 

“You think he’s cheating on me?” Bruce asked, his voice so quiet it was barely even a whisper. He swallowed down that same lump in his throat threatening to choke him and force the tears out.

“I’ve seen the way Clint looks at you, Bruce. I don’t think cheating is what’s happening here. You’ll work it out. The two of you.” He leaned to press a kiss to the top of Bruce’s head. “What did he say back, by the way?” 

Bruce sighed and sat up to grab his phone and hand it to Tony. He hadn’t actually checked for a reply from Clint, assuming he was asleep anyway. 

“‘Okay, I’m glad to hear it,’” Tony read, “‘I’m sorry, Bruce.’ You wanna say something back?” Bruce shook his head. 

“I will in the morning. Can I sleep here?” 

“‘Course you can, buddy. Just like college,” Tony said and Bruce smiled and got comfortable. 

  
  


+

Bruce was very well aware of his complete and utter lack of enthusiasm during his morning lecture. He kept trying to push excitement into his voice and his mannerisms but it just wouldn’t come. He couldn’t help but think about his upcoming talk with Clint. 

They were going to meet for dinner but not at Marcia’s, somewhere more private, and talk about what happened. 

Monday was busy again for both of them and then last night had been their first time really seeing each other since the wedding. Bruce had told Clint about the trip and the wedding but been interrupted with kisses and ‘I missed yous’ before he even got to the reception. 

He wanted to let Clint know that a part of his reaction last night was also due to what Scott had told him, his pre-existing worries about his own importance in Clint’s life. He wanted him to know that he wasn’t angry, only scared, worried, hurt, and that telling him to leave last night had been more about Bruce not wanting to lash out at him in a fit of rage. 

“Okay, remember you have until 11:59pm Thursday to submit your papers,” Bruce said, closing his laptop and packing away his things. 

“Professor?” 

Bruce sighed and slowly turned to see Daisy Johnson, the worry plain on her face. 

“Yes, Daisy, what can I do for you?” 

“Are you alright?” 

“Yeah.” 

Daisy gave him a sad smile and said, “Well, if you decide you’re not actually alright, you know we’d literally all have your back.” 

Bruce returned her smile. “Thanks. I appreciate it but really, I’m fine.” 

“Okay,” she said, clearly not believing it but she turned to walk away. 

It warmed Bruce’s heart to know that his students noticed things like this and extended their help. They really did care and he wasn’t sure why it had taken him so many years to figure that out. 

He finished gathering his things and then went to run one errand before he had to meet up with Clint. 

He headed down the corridor and out into the cold, changing to a light jog because he didn’t have his jacket with him, and then made it to the humanities building. 

He checked the floor directory, never having visited here before, and then made his way for the third floor, room number 314. 

He stopped short of the door, hearing someone else talking and he wasn’t sure why it took him so long to realize that it was Clint. Bruce had come to Bucky’s office for answers. All he wanted to do was say the name ‘Phil’ and see what kind of reaction he would get. 

Bruce wasn’t normally one to eavesdrop because he had personally experienced the expression ‘eavesdroppers never hear good things about themselves’ and yet he couldn’t bring himself to leave or to announce his presence. 

“—can’t get him out of my head,” Clint said and Bruce’s heart warmed at his words. “Everywhere I look, something reminds me of him. God, Bucky, and then—shit, Buck, then there’s Bruce and…” Bruce zoned out, not hearing the rest of his sentence. 

So Clint wasn’t talking about him. Bruce was not the man that Clint couldn’t get out of his head. Someone else was. Bruce blinked back tears but still couldn’t move away. 

“...fucked him.” 

“You what?” Bucky asked. 

“Yeah, a bunch of times.” Clint’s voice sounded muffled now, like maybe he had his hands over his face. 

“That’s so far beyond messed up, Clint.” What was? Why? What was going on? 

“I know. I screwed up. Nat warned me, damn near kicked my ass the other night. She told me to tell him and I just… I couldn’t.” 

“So, see you could’ve salvaged this if you’d talked to him and then slept with him. How’s he gonna feel now? Finding out after you said Phil’s goddamn name instead of his own? Fuck, Clint, I didn’t even know about this. I never would’ve pushed you two together.” 

“Why do you think Nat refused to get involved?” 

Bruce felt numb all over. But he also ached? Was that possible? His surroundings felt fuzzy and far away, surreal, and lifting his feet to step away from the door was like raising cinder blocks. 

He turned to leave with what little understanding of how his body worked that he had left, almost immediately bumping into someone as they came out of the stairwell. He was pulled roughly back to the present. 

“Oh, sorry, Professor Banner,” the girl said and Bruce couldn’t even bring himself to identify the girl. He just mumbled out an apology and darted out as quickly as possible, taking a back stairwell just in case his name had carried all the way to Bucky’s office. 

Bruce wasn’t sure he was breathing. Logically, he knew he was but all he could feel was a hollow feeling where his lungs should’ve been. Every inhale made the lump in his throat grow. 

He stopped halfway down in the stairwell, his hand clutching the railing and his other grasping at his chest. His jaw throbbed painfully from clenching it so tightly as he tried to keep the tears at bay and he felt dizzy with heartache. 

There was someone else. There was someone else in Clint’s life and he loved them still and he regretted sleeping with Bruce because there was someone else. Bucky knew about this other man, Nat did too, and neither of them said anything. 

Did Steve know? 

No. Steve couldn’t—he wouldn’t— 

Bruce inhaled sharply and felt hot tears fall down his cheeks and he wiped them away angrily, continuing down the stairs and out the doors. He didn’t even feel the cold as he made his way to his office. 

He quickly scribbled out a note after gathering his things and putting on his coat, and walked back to his lecture hall, taping it to the doors. The afternoon lecture was cancelled. Bruce would email them. He just couldn’t get up in front of all of them and be sure that he would not break down or lash out. 

Bruce made it home without bumping into Clint on campus. Maybe they hadn’t heard his name in the hallway. Maybe Clint didn’t care. Maybe this would be easier than facing him and breaking up with him. Maybe Clint would just leave it like that. 

Bruce put his bag down and stood in his entranceway, looking around his apartment. He could feel it. He could feel that all too familiar adrenaline building up, that heat that started in his chest and spread to his fingertips. He felt helpless and he despised it. It only made him angrier. 

He stepped forward towards his writing desk and grabbed a book, hurtling it at the wall hard enough for the sound to startle him. But it wasn’t enough. 

“Bruce?” Tony called, pushing the door open but with some difficulty because there was a chair lying on the floor in front of it. “Bruce,” he asked again, fear in his voice. “I got like fifty calls and texts from Clint. You just left work today?” 

He finally managed to push the door open and then stood there in shock, staring at the trashed room. It looked like a tornado had blown through and then across the room, sitting underneath the window, was Bruce. 

His knees were curled up tightly to his chest, his arms around them and face pressed against his knees. He was breathing hard and Tony entered further, closing the door behind him. 

“Been a while since you let it out like this,” Tony said, because the last time Bruce had lost his temper and actually destroyed something had been a few years back when an interviewer had the audacity to ask about his father. “I’m guessing this isn’t The Creative Process?” 

Tony stepped over more chairs and a couch cushion to reach Bruce, sliding down onto the floor beside him and grabbing his hand. Bruce resisted at first but Tony just held on until he let him take his hand. 

“Bruce, what happened? It’s me, talk to me.” 

Bruce lifted his head to look at him and Tony gasped softly. 

“Turns out the way Clint looks at me doesn’t mean shit.” 


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint cleared his throat and squeezed his eyes shut, inhaling nervously.  
> “Six years ago, I met Phil,” he began.

Bruce pulled the door open and glared up at Clint with enough venom to make the taller man step back. 

“Bruce, what—”

“Don’t you fucking _dare_ ask me what happened, Clint,” Bruce spat, furious. The hand not holding onto the door, barring Clint’s entry, was clenched into a tight fist at his side, his nails digging painfully into his palms. 

“I know you came to see Bucky. I heard that student say your name,” Clint said and Bruce could see the red tinting around his eyes and the sadness in them. He knew Clint must have cried or been crying but he couldn’t bring himself to care right at that moment. “What did you hear?” 

Bruce laughed a harsh, cold laugh that made Clint wince. “Does it matter? None of it was good. You want me to tell you about the part where some other man is on your mind? Or the part where you regret having sex with me? Oh, or maybe my favorite part, that Nat knew all this time and never said a damn thing. One evil bastard I can take but _Nat_ too?” He shook his head. 

“Bruce, listen, I can expla—” 

“Too little, too _fucking_ late.” 

He tossed out a trash bag with all of Clint’s things in it and slammed the door shut, turning the locks and walking over to his speaker. He turned on the loudest song he could find and cranked the volume up to drown out the sound of Clint calling his name and knocking. 

He stopped before he reached the couch, closed his eyes, inhaled deeply, and exhaled, letting his shoulders drop although he knew he would be carrying this tension around for the next few days at least. 

“Feel better?” 

“Do I look like I feel better?” Bruce snapped, dragging his hands down his face. 

Tony had spent the last few hours helping him clean up and calm down. It had been rough and they still had a long way to go because Bruce had had to stop and just breathe or tear something else up at random moments, but the first thing they had started with were all of Clint’s things he’d left there over the last few weeks. Pants, shirts, his toothbrush, even the specific brand of cereal he liked had all gone into the bag. 

It all had to go. Bruce had wasted enough years of his life being treated badly to devote any more to the cause. He was done and he was done with Clint. 

“How about dinner? Or a shower? Some tea?” Tony offered, slowly turning the music down now that it seemed Clint had either left or realized shouting was no good. 

“Not hungry,” Bruce grumbled, finally collapsing onto the couch beside Tony. He looked around the still mostly chaotic room and sighed. 

He dropped his head onto Tony’s shoulder. 

“Sometimes I wish I’d stayed in Brazil,” he confessed softly. “I had a good thing going on there. Work was rewarding, weather was mostly good, food was to die for and just… my life was simple.” 

“Staying in Brazil wouldn’t have saved you from ever getting your heart broken again. If not Clint, then maybe someone else,” Tony reasoned just as quietly. 

“It would’ve saved me from Clint though because—” Bruce’s voice broke on the word and he couldn’t finish his sentence, the tears coming slowly and then all at once. He was sobbing, his hands covering his face, and he couldn’t stop it. No matter how deeply he inhaled or willed himself to stop, they wouldn’t. 

He sobbed until his throat screamed in protest and his face was puffy and red. Tony was silent the entire time, holding Bruce to his side and rubbing his arm. 

When Bruce finally felt like he had no tears left, he sniffled and wiped his nose on a tissue Tony had at the ready. He looked up at Tony. 

“Sorry,” he mumbled, feeling heavy and awful. 

“You don’t have to apologize for that, Bruce,” Tony said and despite knowing that it was Tony who spoke, he couldn’t help but hear that in Clint’s voice. 

His heart ached all over again. 

  
  


+

  
  


Nat and Bucky were Bruce’s next visitors once Clint finally gave up. He had given up with in-person visits but the texts continued. Bruce wasn’t sure why he hadn’t just blocked him yet but he was pretty sure it had to do with the fact that he was still very much in love with him, no matter how angry he was and, actually, that fact only served to anger him more. 

It was supposed to be a wonderful do-nothing Saturday. Originally, Bruce had planned to go with Steve and Clint to see his art exhibit but that wasn’t happening for many reasons. Tony, after taking one look at his sad, puppy-eyed boyfriend had given in and gone with him instead, so Bruce was spending Saturday alone. Though he didn’t mind. 

He spent the morning cocooned in bed. Normally he would have just slept right through until his empty stomach woke him, but he had found that lately he couldn’t sleep. A few hours here and there, maybe a nap to get him through, but never a full night’s sleep. Not since they’d broken up. 

So instead of enjoying his do-nothing-day, Bruce’s activities consisted of bouts of tears, fits of rage, and moments of sadness so intense that he couldn’t imagine that only a week ago he had been happy and in love and carefree. He thought back to how naively he had been excited about a good mood streak. 

He may not have believed in superstition or jinxing but if he did, he would’ve said he brought this on himself. 

The doorbell rang a third time and Bruce decided he might as well just get a good yell out of his system anyway. Maybe it would help him sleep. 

He peeled himself out of his bed and made his way to the door. The apartment was squeaky clean and Bruce had Steve to thank for that. He’d come in on Friday while Bruce was at work and cleaned the place top to bottom. 

Bruce reached the door and sighed heavily, opening it only enough to see the people on the other side. The light from the hallway was offensive and awful and Bruce squinted, his eyebrows raising when he saw Natasha and Bucky. 

“He couldn’t come yell out bullshit today so he sent his two lackeys? That’s nice. Teamwork is nice,” Bruce said bitterly. 

“Bruce,” Natasha said, her tone pleading. “Please. It’s not what you think. Yes, he could’ve done this better but he didn’t—”

“He didn’t what? Didn’t think? Didn’t care? So considerate of him to only do the bare minimum of shitty things in a relationship. And I mean, you _knew_ . You knew about whatever the hell he had going on and you said nothing. _Nothing_. You’re as bad as him. At least _you_ didn’t know. Or that’s what you said that day in your office, anyway,” he said, looking at Bucky now. 

“Banner, listen to her, she’s telling the tru—”

“He should’ve told me about whatever’s going on. Instead he smiled and lied to my face, he _mocked_ me. He looked me in my eyes and told me he didn’t want to share me with anyone, that having space and time apart is _good_ for us.” He scoffed, shaking his head. “No. No, thanks. Whatever other lies you’re here to sell to me, I don’t want ‘em. Thanks for trying. Appreciate all your help and concern _after_ the fact.” 

“Bruce, wait—”

“Get the fuck out of my building,” he said dismissively, not even bothering to slam the door this time. 

He went back to his dark bedroom and crawled under the covers to try and sleep away the rest of the day, his appetite permanently gone. 

  
  


+

The more Bruce thought about it, the worse it was and wasn’t that a shame because Bruce’s one superpower was overthinking, so all he did was think and make it worse. One of the shittiest lines of thought he’d come across in the last few days was trying to pinpoint exactly how long this had been going on. 

The entire time? The last month? The last _few_ months? Couple weeks? When? When was it? When did Bruce no longer have any importance attached to him? When he did just become someone Clint liked having around but didn’t necessarily want to commit to, not in any truthful way at least. 

Was this connected to whatever had happened to Clint, or separate? Was Phil an ex, _the_ ex, or a current? Maybe Bruce was the side piece. That was the absolute shittiest thought so far. That he had _never_ been that important to Clint. That he’d always just been something Clint wanted and not _someone_ he wanted. 

Bruce removed his glasses and sat them on top of his desk, letting his face fall into his hands. 

“Um, professor?” 

Bruce looked up, wishing he could have taken another few days off. 

Work felt impossible. He felt like students had more questions than ever, needed more help than ever, and to be fair, that might actually have been the case. Midterms were coming up right before the holidays and students were probably under a lot of stress. Bruce was doing his best to accommodate everyone but he simply did not have the patience, the desire or even the strength some days. 

This breakup had really zapped the joy out of Bruce’s _one_ thing. The _one_ thing that _always_ made him happy, that stood out among every other thing he had ever set his mind on. Teaching had always been his private source of joy, the thing no one could take away from him and now it was just another part of the day to get through. 

He wasn’t sure if it was just the sheer power of the breakup or if it was because the majority of his students followed his life so closely and thus knew about the breakup, but he just wished he was at home. 

“Yes, Peter?” 

“We’re done,” he said, gesturing to the other students around him and then at the board where Bruce had written the end time for their test. 

“Okay, just put them on the end of my desk here, please, and let’s take a ten minute bre—” 

Bruce’s eye caught the movement at the top of the room. He almost missed it, would’ve missed it had he blinked a second sooner, but he did not. 

He felt every muscle in his body tense, pulled tight with the intensity of his anger. His fist clenched so hard his pen snapped in two. The sound and the sharp stab of broken plastic into his hand distracted him and when he looked up again, Clint was gone. 

How long he had been there, he didn’t know, but he would be more vigilant next time and he would let him know exactly how he felt about onlookers. 

“Ten minute break,” Bruce said brusquely, getting up from his desk and heading out without another word. 

  
  


When Bruce came back, all of his students were down near his desk, someone in the middle of them all as they chattered and laughed excitedly. 

Bruce made his way down the stairs to find Clint standing in the midst of them all, a box in his hands that they were all reaching into. Bruce’s temper flared dangerously. 

“What are you doing in here?” Bruce snapped, his students turning around to find the man responsible for that tone of voice because they didn’t seem to expect that it had come from Bruce. 

“Well,” Clint said, his smile wide but Bruce could see the lie in his eyes. He’d spent long enough staring into them to know when a smile wasn’t genuine. “I just thought I’d bring a cinnamon roll some cinnamon rolls.” 

Bruce wasn’t sure why exactly Clint thought this would be a good idea. If Bruce hadn’t wanted to talk to him in his own home, why the hell would he want to do it now in front of all these kids? 

Or maybe that was his plan. Get back into Bruce’s good graces by doing something that would have otherwise been very cute in front of a crowd that would keep Bruce from screaming? 

Well, if that was the plan, that wasn’t going to work. 

Bruce stalked forward and his students made way for him. He snatched the box from Clint’s hands and walked it to the trash, throwing it in there with more force than necessary. He turned back to a surprised and incredibly sad Clint and his heart screamed in protest as he stabbed his finger at him. 

“Get. _Out_ _.”_

“Bruce,” Clint said, his voice strained. “Please. Just—”

 _“Clint_ _!”_ he snapped again, his students all staring at him with wide eyes filled with shock. 

Clint blinked, tears sitting on the brim of his eyelids threatening to fall over and down his cheeks. He nodded, stuffing his hands in his pockets. He turned to leave and Bruce leaned back against his desk, lifting a hand to his face as he calmed his breathing and tried to overcome that awful, gnawing in the pit of his stomach. 

“Prof—” 

“Everyone sit down, break is over,” Bruce said tiredly, putting his glasses back on and grabbing his copy of the text they were analyzing. 

The students stood there a moment longer and then slowly returned to their seats in silence.

“Professor,” MJ said softly. 

Bruce clenched his fist and then exhaled as he released it. 

“Page four, paragraph two is where we left off,” he said without looking up and began to read. 

No one interrupted again and after class, Bruce left without a word. 

  
  


+

**Tony**

It was hard watching Bruce retreat into himself again, pulling away from the world and hating everything about it. It took Tony back to their worst college memories—the breakup with Betty and the time when Bruce was notified of his father’s passing. 

He’d watched his friend slowly regress into that near-mute man he had first met. Silent, intensely angry, hurting. In the beginning he could never quite tell if Bruce was going to yell or cry, if he would wake from nightmares or just not sleep at all, and seeing him back in a place where those were his only options again was heart-breaking. 

And _infuriating._

Bruce Banner for all his faults was an insanely decent, giving, and gentle individual. He gave and he gave and he gave, usually at the expense of his own time, energy and happiness, and even when he complained he found a way to put a positive spin on it. 

No one deserved to be hurt like this but especially not Bruce. 

“What’re you gonna do?” Steve asked, brushing his teeth beside Tony, looking at him in the mirror. 

Tony was shaving, the blade moving down along his cheek. He dropped the razor to shake off the gunk and said, “Confront him.” 

“Be careful.” 

“What? You think he’d hurt me?” Tony snorted. 

“No,” Steve said, calmly, pausing to spit and rinse his mouth. “I think you might hurt him.” 

“Maybe he deserves it.” 

“I’m pretty sure he’s hurting already and he’s still my friend.” 

Tony and Bruce knew that Steve had to have information on Phil but Bruce didn’t want to ask. Bruce didn’t want to know and Tony knew that if _he_ found out, he would accidentally blab so Steve kept his mouth shut. His reasoning being that Clint and Bruce needed to fix this and Clint needed to explain on his own.

“And Bruce is still mine.” 

Tony thought about Steve’s words, he thought about doing the right thing and just talking to Clint—because Tony needed to know more and he wanted it from the source—but then he remembered Bruce sobbing on his shoulder. He remembered finding Bruce in his trashed apartment curled up under the window sill. He remembered all the times since that he’d had to go over and make sure Bruce was eating, bathing, and sleeping at least a little. 

And suddenly, Steve’s advice went right out the window. 

He hadn’t planned on making a scene but he knew he would anyway, so he went with it, improvising. 

“Hey,” he said, tapping Clint’s shoulder. When Clint turned, Tony shoved him as hard as he could, causing Clint to stumble back. Students and faculty alike stopped in their tracks, conversations abruptly ending. 

Clint staggered but caught himself. He was shocked and then recognition kicked in and he sighed, dropping his shoulders out of a fighting stance and tugging his beanie down further. 

“I deserved that,” Clint said. 

“And a hell of a lot more, asswipe,” Tony told him, taking a step forward and Clint took one back. Tony kept stalking forward anyway until he could grab Clint by the front of his coat. “Why did you do it? Why would you do that to him?” He shook Clint when he didn’t get an answer. 

“I didn’t mean to,” he finally said and though Tony could see the pure misery and regret in Clint’s face and hear it in his tone, he didn’t let up. 

He shook him again. “But _why_ _?_ And who the fuck is Phil anyway?” 

Clint frowned and closed his eyes. Tony’s grip tightened and when he opened his eyes, they were bright with tears that Tony was _not_ expecting. 

“My ex,” he said quietly, his voice breaking. 

“Then why not just fight to get him back instead of inserting yourself into _Bruce’s_ life and ruining it?” 

Clint breathed out and it was jagged and wet. “He’s dead. Phil’s dead.” 

“Well, if he’s—wait _._ _What?”_

“Okay, that’s enough,” a man roughly three times Tony’s size said, pulling Tony off Clint with an ease that genuinely infuriated Tony. He was not _that_ small. 

“It’s okay, Thor,” Clint said and the big man—Thor, and honestly, what an appropriate name—gave Clint a questioning look but let Tony go. 

Tony straightened his clothes and glared up at Thor before remembering that he _had_ just shoved a man on a university campus so security intervention should have been expected. And his fight was with Clint, not this unfairly muscular human being. 

He turned back to Clint. “Dead? Like not alive dead or dead to you?” 

“He’s buried at Greenwood,” Clint clarified miserably. 

“Shit,” Tony said. “I’m sorry.” The words slipped out before he even realized it but he didn’t take it back. That was still an awful thing to happen to anyone. “Recently?” 

Clint shook his head. “January.” 

There was so much that Tony didn’t understand here. Phil was dead. Phil had _been_ dead for almost a year. Tony wasn’t putting any time limit on mourning, everyone needed a different amount of time and there was no judgment involved _except_ for the fact that Clint had let someone else into his life and been let into theirs and he obviously was not ready to make that move. 

“I thought—” Clint began, looking away and composing himself. “I thought I was over it. I _am_ over him. I was _not_ thinking about him when Bruce told me he loved me—honest to god, Tony, I _promise_ it just slipped out. I didn’t even realize it.” 

Tony chewed the inside of his cheek. “You need to tell this to Bruce.”

“How?” Clint asked immediately. “How, when he won’t answer my texts or the door? He kicked me out of his lecture hall the other day.” 

“What time do you finish?” 

“5:30.” 

“I’ll meet you here then. I’ll take you to him,” Tony said. 

“Thank you, Tony. Holy shit, thank—”

“Not doing this for you.” 

“I know. Doesn’t make me any less grateful.” 

“Well. See you then.” Tony turned to leave but hesitated, turning back. “I really am sorry for your loss.” 

  
  


+

**Bruce**

“Hey, Tony,” Bruce called from the kitchen when he heard the door open. He was doing well today, all things considered. 

It had been a few days since his run-in with Clint during his lecture. He hadn’t slept more than four hours since then so he’d been even grumpier than usual but he was trying to get back into some sort of a routine. 

He’d gone in for his morning lecture and gotten through it rather well. At least in his opinion. He hadn’t snapped at anyone, he hadn’t needed to take more breaks than necessary and he had even been able to meet with Peter and continue helping him with his own book. And thankfully, Peter hadn’t asked him any personal questions, although Bruce had made it clear earlier in the week that his sharing was over. 

“Hungry? I’ve got fish sticks in the oven and some fries,” Bruce said, coming out of the kitchen and pausing when he saw Clint there standing beside Tony. The dish towel in Bruce’s hands fell to the floor and he stepped back. “W-what’s he doing he—Tony, why did you bring him here?” 

“Bruce,” Tony said placatingly, stepping forward. “I think you should let him explain.” 

Bruce looked between the two of them. He slowly bent to pick up the towel he had dropped, fidgeting with it, squeezing and pulling to calm his nerves and hush his anxiety. 

“Why?” 

“Just to give you some peace of mind. He told me and I think you’ll want to know as well.” 

Bruce swallowed, nervous, still wringing the towel in his hands. He looked over at Clint who startled visibly when Bruce met his eyes. He looked about as tired and ragged as Bruce felt. 

“Okay,” Bruce said quietly because for all the pain and anger he felt, for as much as he said he didn’t need to know why Clint hurt him but it was enough just that he had, he _did_ still want to know. A part of him _needed_ to know. 

Bruce sat down at the table and Clint took off his shoes and coat, leaving both at the door. He came over slowly and took the chair across from Bruce. 

Tony hovered a moment longer and then asked, “I’ll be at mine if you need anything?” Bruce nodded and he left them alone. 

Bruce’s heart was racing and his hands were sweating. He dropped them into his lap and wiped them off on his sweats, still watching Clint and trying to remember to breathe. 

Clint cleared his throat and squeezed his eyes shut, inhaling nervously. 

“Six years ago, I met Phil,” he began, his eyes open and focused on Bruce. “I was a rookie, fresh out of the academy, and I was assigned to this small house in Red Hook.” 

Clint continued, talking about how different training was from the first time he actually had to go into a building on fire. The visibility was zero, the noise was intense, and he was already at a disadvantage being the only hearing-impaired firefighter not just in the house, but in the borough apparently. 

His instructor had gone hard on him, really giving him a tough time compared to the other recruits and Clint was under no illusion that it was for any other reason than him hoping Clint would wash out and make room for someone who didn’t have his disability. 

He’d pushed through, graduated top of his class, and been hand-picked by a chief and his squad lieutenant to whom the commissioner owed a favor. And although it was such a different experience when real lives were at stake, he’d been in the army; he was no stranger to high stakes. 

“But some days I still struggled. Usually after we’d lost someone on a call or they’d passed away after a few days despite us getting them to the hospital,” Clint explained, staring down at the table now as he thought about it. “My lieutenant was a good guy, looked out for his team, but it was this slightly older guy who was part of the truck, uh, team, I guess you could say, who really took me under his wing. He’d check up on me during downtime, invited me out for a drink to talk or watch a game. That was Phil.” 

He paused, his fist clenched, and he relaxed it before carrying on to tell Bruce about how he and Phil grew closer. It wasn’t long before they were doing everything together and Phil had met the rest of the gang. He and Nat got along the best but he gelled well with the entire group, bonding over food with Sam, sports with Bucky and Steve and even an incredibly random knowledge of Wakanda that impressed Okoye. 

“When he asked me out it blew me away,” Clint told him, a slight but sad smile on his face. “I didn’t know he liked guys and up until then, I’d never really seen him show any interest in anyone. It dawned on me later that that was because he’d been interested in me for so long.” 

They went on a date and, unsurprisingly, it went amazingly. It was a week later that Phil first called Clint his boyfriend. 

“We already knew each other’s friends and family,” he added. “Well, chosen family. Obviously he couldn’t meet my parents and Barney’d been MIA for a couple years already by then.” 

Bruce continued to listen carefully. He was intrigued by the story and he had missed him so much the last week. He hadn’t even realized just how much of his heartache was simply missing him until he had started talking, even if it was a different mood to their usual conversations. 

“We dated just over three years,” Clint said, looking up to meet Bruce’s eyes again. Bruce watched him carefully. “Thankfully we were on different trucks so Chief MacKenzie never had a problem with us… fraternizing.” His smile grew sadder in that moment, turned into something dark and hard to look at. 

Clint inhaled again and as the air left him, Bruce noticed the fresh layer of tears making his eyes shine. Clint blinked and a single tear fell from his left eye down his cheek. He wiped it away and apologized. Bruce couldn’t find the breath to reassure Clint that he didn’t need to apologize. The anguish on Clint’s face knocked it all out of him. 

“In early January of this year,” he began slowly, “we got a call. Fire at a home converted into a daycare.” He stopped and licked his lips. “By the time we got there, smoke was coming out the windows, flames were licking the front door…. we had to do an aerial entrance through the second floor window.” 

Clint went on to explain how the first few minutes had gone after their arrival. They’d gotten out all of the carers and most of the children on the second floor. Some were still stuck down below, too scared to try and make it upstairs. 

“It took a while but finally we had found all the kids. Phil and I were the last out. I was carrying two kids, he had two and then—god.” He stopped and clapped his hands to his face, silent for a solid minute and Bruce was so immersed in the story that he felt strange to suddenly find himself in the present again. 

“Uh, the, uh, um.” He looked away, another tear falling that he wiped away. “A piece of the ceiling fell and knocked out the stairs and with it went Phil. I turned just in time to grab the kids he had but then I… I put them down. I put the kids down and I went over to the hole and I looked for Phil but I couldn’t see him. He had fallen into the basement and I couldn’t hear him, couldn’t see him. I called out and got no answer. I don’t even know if he was alive or if he was just unconscious but _—_ _fuck_ _.”_ He stopped again, dragging his hands down his face. “I-I-I don’t know if he was still alive or not but I grabbed the kids and I headed out and once they were safe, I tried to go back in but my chief grabbed me and yelled something—I don’t even know what—and then the whole place just…” He imitated an explosion with his hands. “And he was gone.” 

Bruce sucked in a sharp breath, hurting for Clint, hurting for what he’d been through with Phil. Bruce couldn’t even imagine what he would do if this had been his situation with Betty. The fact that January was just around the corner and it must have been incredibly painful to share this story was not lost on Bruce. 

“After we’d hosed it off, I ran in to find him. I… I should’ve caught him. Should’ve grabbed him. I—” He cut himself off and shook his head. Bruce recognized that; that attempt to physically derail a train of thought before it could inevitably lead to a violent mental crash. “When we got back to the station, I didn’t even know which way was up so when a herd of reporters were shoving microphones and cameras in my face, it was overwhelming.” 

Clint was staring down at the table and Bruce didn’t think he knew he had been silent for nearly two solid minutes. 

Bruce stood and Clint’s head lifted, his sad eyes following him. 

“Water?” Bruce asked. Clint nodded. 

“Thanks.” Clint drank half of it before he started up with the story again. “While I was planning a funeral for the person I thought I was gonna spend my life with, I was getting bombarded and harassed by reporters and journalists who all wanted to tell the story of the firefighter who saved the day,” he said, putting on a newscaster voice. “The firefighter who carried out four kids on his own moments before a deadly explosion.” His voice was bitter now. “I went to two interviews and after both I denied permission for them to write the story.”

“Why?” Bruce asked, the second word he’d said in just over an hour. 

“Everyone wanted to write about Clint Barton, the hero, and the kids he had saved. No one wanted to write about who he’d lost or how that man had been the _real_ hero.” He ran his hands through his hair, blowing out a breath. “Reporters ambushed me at every corner for the next few weeks, all scrambling to get the story and every time I pushed for them to include Phil’s death, they would dance around the subject until they flat out told me no, so I did the same. I went to counseling, fell back on Nat and the others but every time I would think I could start trying to move forward, another reporter would come crawling out of the shadows to bring up that day.” 

He sipped his water. 

“I got sick of it. Packed up and moved to the other side of the country where no one knew the story. But I started to miss my family, so I came back,” he said, a ring of finality to his tone. 

Bruce stared at Clint long and hard and then said, “I am so sorry for your loss. Clint, I really am.” 

Clint met his eyes a second longer and then dropped his eyes. “Thank you,” he replied quietly. 

“So,” Bruce started and Clint raised his eyes again, “is that why you thought I was a reporter? And where the issue with being a hero comes from?” Clint nodded. 

“Yeah.” He picked up his water but it didn’t reach his lips because his hand was shaking. “Bruce,” he began, his tone changing, “I’m sorry. I _never_ meant to hurt you, I swear. I know I’m still processing the grief and I never should’ve dragged you into my life knowing that.” 

“You know,” Bruce began, having given this serious thought during Clint’s explanation, “Bucky’s right. You could’ve salvaged this if you’d just told me earlier. Why didn’t you tell me?” 

“For the same reason I assume you won’t talk about why you broke up with Betty,” Clint said. “It’s too painful.” Touché. “I just didn’t realize it was still affecting me so much.”

“It hasn’t even been a year. You can’t expect to get over the death of this man who meant so much to you so soon,” Bruce said. 

Clint looked down at the table, picking at a loose thread on his sweater and Bruce was taken back to that first visit in his office, Clint playing with a string on his sleeve. 

“‘Could’ve salvaged,’” he repeated quietly. “I mean, I know. I didn’t come here to beg for your forgiveness or for you to take me back but—”

“I don’t think that’s in either of our best interests,” Bruce cut in, having to look away from the way Clint’s expression fell. 

Clint cleared his throat. “W-what do you mean?” 

Bruce desperately wanted to tell him to stay. He wanted to wrap Clint up in his arms and hold him and kiss him and tell him everything was alright. He wanted to tell Clint he _loved_ him and hear him finally say it back with the right name. 

But that wouldn’t be healthy for either of them. 

“You obviously still have some very strong feelings for Phil. It’s only natural,” Bruce said, holding his hand up when Clint opened his mouth to protest. “I told you I didn’t date anyone again until I left college after Betty and _I_ was the one who ended that relationship.” 

“But how do I know when it’s been long enough?” Clint asked and this was the first moment that Bruce really and truly noticed their age gap. Clint’s big, blue eyes looked so innocent and sad, so unsure. 

“Everyone’s different,” Bruce said, his tone softening and he realized that all the anger he had felt toward Clint had faded. He wasn’t sure when but it was just… gone. “But when you’re ready, you’ll just _know_ _.”_

“I thought I already _just knew_ when I saw you, so I’m not sure I’m the best judge of my own grief,” Clint said bitterly but it was directed at himself, not Bruce. “I saw you that night at the bar and just like that—” He snapped his fingers “—I was interested. I wanted to know more.” 

“But sometimes you seemed so sad when we were together. Like you’d rather I were Phil.” 

“No,” he said firmly, “never. I—Bruce, I love you. I do. With my whole heart it’s just… sometimes you remind me so much of him.” 

Bruce wasn’t sure how to take that. Was that a good thing? Did he have Phil’s good qualities? Did he look like him? Or his bad qualities? Did they have _too_ much in common?

And Bruce couldn’t even really find an answer to any of those questions because he was too busy fixating on _Bruce, I love you._

“I know how that sounds but I think of it as a good thing,” Clint said quickly, trying to fix the situation, “because before we dated, we were friends. Really, really good friends. I felt like I could tell him anything. I felt so comfortable around him. He was kinda quiet and—don’t take this the wrong way—unassuming but the way he could command a room or how passionately he would talk about the things he loved was downright mesmerizing.” He shook his head as he thought about it. “All the good things that made me love Phil, I see in you plus more. And yeah, sometimes it’s hard but it’s not a _bad_ thing. In fact, I can’t imagine loving you without those things.” 

“Without the things that remind you of Phil.” 

“No. Without the things that make you and Phil attractive to me, that make you both good people. I guess I have a type. Soft, generous, passionate, warm-hearted people. And I don’t think that’s a bad thing. And maybe I do need to take some more time and work through his death but it won’t change the way I feel about you.” 

Bruce actually couldn’t think of a single thing to say. He hadn’t expected any of this. He hadn’t expected to actually _like_ being compared to Clint’s ex and, well, he supposed that when he thought about it, Phil wasn’t even really an _ex_. Death certainly separated them but there wasn’t a fight, the breakup wasn’t on their terms, so maybe it was a testament to how well they fit together that Bruce had things in common with the man Clint intended to spend his life with. 

“I don’t… this is new territory for me. I don’t always do well with new,” Bruce admitted carefully, trying to make sure that what he was thinking and what came out of his mouth were the same thing because that wasn’t always the case with him. 

“Just to clarify then because I know that you like having as much information as possible,” Clint began and Bruce felt the small smile tug at his lips because that was true and it was nice that Clint remembered. “I love _you_ but do I sometimes get sad and miss Phil? Yeah, yeah I do. But not romantically. It’s just… been hard since coming back to New York and around Thanksgiving was our anniversary, so I was kind of bummed out.” 

Bruce also hadn’t thought of that, coming back to New York or spending important dates alone for the first time. Of course he knew Clint had moved to California to get away from the reporters but he hadn’t put together yet that he might have done it to get away from the constant reminders as well. 

“That’s why I refused the firefighting job. It’s why you haven’t been to my apartment.” 

“You’re in the apartment you two used to share?” 

“What? No. God, no. I just don’t have much there. I got rid of almost everything we shared before I moved. What I have is basic. Just the necessities. And I didn’t want you to come over and think I don’t know how to furnish an apartment,” he explained with a weak laugh. 

“I always wondered what you were hiding.” He gave Clint a small smile. 

“Absolutely nothing. I wouldn’t have anything to hide it behind anyway,” he joked and Bruce chuckled softly. 

Bruce opened his mouth to comment on that and then remembered another question that had been bothering him for months. 

“All the people you used to talk to at the bar—”

“People who had heard about me coming back. Some brought cards or little gifts. Others just came to talk and catch up.” 

“Gifts?” 

“A handful of them were parents of the kids from the fire. Some are just locals from my old firehouse territory. You really get to know the community and then others, like Logan, you know?” 

“Yeah, I know him.” 

“He’s a firefighter. We worked together a few times.” 

“I never knew. I always wondered why you’d come and talk to them but then go home alone. I thought it was the weirdest thing,” Bruce admitted. 

Clint laughed. “Yeah, I told you. From day one, I had my eye on _you_ , nobody else, and then paranoia got the best of me and ruined my first impression.” His smile dropped again. He checked his watch. “Well, I guess I should probably get going.” 

“Why?” Bruce demanded, trying to remember if Clint had said he had plans or to work or anything else. 

Clint looked puzzled. “I… well, I mean. We… I thought this,” he said, gesturing between the two of them, “wasn’t in our best interests?” 

Bruce sighed. There was every possibility that more time was needed. There was also the possibility that Bruce was wrong. Clint had a very strong case to explain literally _everything._ Bruce couldn’t find any cracks or loopholes, it made sense and it wasn’t actually all that offensive to him either. 

But… 

“Maybe… maybe we just take a little time. Be friends for a bit again,” Bruce suggested and Clint nodded solemnly. Bruce knew that it was nearly impossible to go back to being friends once you had fallen in love with someone but there was an end goal to all of this. “And then maybe we can go on a date?” 

“I’d like that.” 

Bruce smiled but then he looked away, feeling a need to explain. “I thought… I thought you had _cheated_ on me or that you were still in love with an ex who didn’t want you back but this… this was unexpected.” 

Clint’s eyebrows pulled together. “I’d never cheat. Not on you or anyone else.” His tone made it very clear that he had been on the other end of a cheater in a relationship. “But I get how you’d come to that conclusion and I really am sorry I didn’t tell you. I’m sorry I hurt you.” 

“It’s not fine but it will be,” Bruce told him honestly. “Listen, I love that you feel comfortable with me and I’m still surprised every day by how comfortable I feel around you. We’re adults with some shitty pasts and we’ve both got skeletons in our closets. You don’t have to tell me about every single one if you don’t want to but going forward we _have_ to share anything that has any bearing on our present or our future.” 

“Agreed,” Clint said, his smile happy and wide. Bruce could see the way it made his eyes light up, the corners crinkling. It was genuine. “I promise.” 

“That’s all I ask. And you’re not the only one with things to work on. I have to keep working on my temper,” Bruce confessed. “I shouldn’t have thrown away your cinnamon rolls in front of the kids.” 

“That,” Clint began, blushing, “was a stupid thing to do. On my part, I mean. Didn’t really think that one through.” 

“At another time, it would’ve been disgustingly cute.” Clint opened his mouth but closed it again. Bruce had a good idea of what he might have wanted to say. 

“You know, your thugs confronted me too.”

“I’m sorry, my _what_ _?”_ Bruce asked, laughing. 

“Peter, MJ, and Ned? Yeah, Ned and MJ were out for blood, even threatened me.” 

“No,” Bruce gasped in disbelief. 

“Yep. MJ casually dropped in that her father works for the CIA. I don’t know if that’s true but she didn’t smile when I laughed. Ned said he knows a guy who knows a guy that could make me sorry for ever hurting you. Oh and Peter just gave me a disappointed look, which hurt the most.” 

“They weren’t kidding about burning down the school if something happened to me, huh?” Clint’s blush deepened. “What? Oh god, did they set something of _yours_ on fire?” 

“No,” Clint said, rubbing his neck and Bruce recognized that shy habit. “I, uh… I was actually the one who submitted that one. Guess I’ll just set myself on fire, huh?” 

“You did _what!”_

“Yeah,” he laughed nervously. “That’s why I read it out to you. Wanted to see your reaction.” 

“Clint,” Bruce laughed, looking up at him. God, he loved this man but he was determined to stick to what they had agreed upon. Take some time, take a break, find their way back to each other. 

“I should probably go,” Clint said, still smiling but it was sad again. He stood when Bruce nodded reluctantly and then gathered his things. 

Bruce came over to the door but kept his distance. Clint looked down at him and Bruce looked up. 

“I—” Clint paused, uncertain. “Can we hug?” 

“Of course,” Bruce said, pushing up on his tiptoes to wrap his arms around Clint’s neck, their cheeks pressed together. Bruce closed his eyes as Clint’s arms wrapped around him and he inhaled deeply, forcing himself to remember the way this felt and smelled and how it made him feel. 

When they finally pulled apart, Clint’s eyes were watery again. 

“I’ll see you around?” 

“Definitely.” 

  
  


Bruce walked across the hall once he felt confident in his legs’ ability to take him there and he knocked on the door, not sure if Steve was home or not. 

“It’s open,” Tony called and Bruce went in. 

“What was that wisecrack about not living in Canada?” Bruce said, coming over to fall on the couch beside Tony. 

“You’re in a mysteriously good mood. Crack? Or no… maybe quaaludes?” 

“Your age is showing. All the kids nowadays like edibles.” 

“I’m not… I’m not gonna pretend to know what that is and I need you to explain how you went from sad zombie Bruce making fish sticks for the sixth night in a row—”

“Rude, you said you liked them.” 

“I lied and I love you but anyway, where did euphoric, sleepy Bruce come from? Did he give you an ‘I’m sorry’ blowie? _Bruce,_ tell me that’s not what you’ve been up to for the last two hours.” 

“No, it’s not,” Bruce laughed. “He explained.” 

“About the ex dying in the fire?” Bruce nodded. “And that made you _smile?_ That’s fucked up.” 

_“Tony,”_ Bruce groaned in exasperation, though still smiling. “There’s a lot more to it than that.” 

“Well, care to elaborate?” 

  
  


“I’m grateful for you taking up for me but I still can’t believe you confronted him like that,” Bruce said, shaking his head softly. 

“As if you never wanted to yourself,” Tony said, dragging a hand down his face as he took in everything Bruce told him. Bruce had kept a select few details out, ones he felt were too personal to share with Tony from Clint’s story, but he had still gotten the majority of it. “I still can’t believe that’s the full story. Damn.” 

“I know,” Bruce said quietly. 

“But you know, I agree with him.” Bruce looked up, raising his eyebrows questioningly. “I didn’t realize it for a while and it’s certainly not the _only_ reason I like Steve but there are things about him that remind me of Pepper. They’re not even necessarily things _only_ Pepper does but just ones that I remember thinking ‘oh, that’s nice’.” 

Hearing it from Tony helped to solidify in his mind that it didn’t have to be a _bad_ thing to remind someone of their ex, especially not in this case. Or in Steve’s case either. An ex was not an inherently bad person. In fact, when Bruce really thought about it, Clint and Betty had qualities in common. He’d even noted at the wedding that they had the same eye color. 

“I really do agree that it just means you have a type. Barton likes soft on the outside, tough on the inside dorks and I like strong-willed, natural born leaders who aren’t afraid to disagree with me.” 

Bruce chuckled. Yes, that perfectly described both him and Steve. 

“So what are you saying?” 

“I’m saying,” Tony began, tapping a hand to his chin as he thought, “that I agree that time apart is good. Kinda step back, reasses, learn and heal but… now with the full picture in mind, I don’t think this is a crime deserving of capital punishment.” 

“I agree,” Bruce said, nodding. “The last thing I want is to lose him, Tony. I just.. I know it hasn’t been very long but he’s so important to me.” 

“Time has nothing to do with it. Sure, you only dated for what? Two weeks? But you’ve been friends for _months,”_ Tony said. “And importance and romantic love are not mutually exclusive. I’m willing to bet you wanna keep him in your life no matter what form that takes.” 

“Yes,” Bruce agreed again, relief flooding him as Tony’s words sank in. It was nice having Tony help him to lay out the facts in a way that made it easier for Bruce to see if he was making the right choice. 

“And you know, this little snafu aside, I really like the two of you together,” Tony told him, turning to look at him, a gentle smile on his lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I won’t be posting chapter 11 until Friday, just a heads up, and chapter 12 is an epilogue that will also probably be posted on Monday at the latest (it’s a last minute, unwritten addition) but if it’s Tuesday, please forgive me, folks. ✌🏽


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I—” Clint began, not sure where to even begin. 
> 
> “Can I come in? I brought pizza. And I have beer.” Bruce lifted the boxes as if needing to show proof and then wiggled so the beer bottles in his backpack clinked together.

“God, I’m nervous,” Bruce said, tugging his hat down with one hand so he wouldn’t drop the food and presents he had in the other. 

“Good that means things are totally normal,” Tony said, earning himself a weak glare from Bruce. “But really, are you nervous because you’re gonna see Clint, you’re going to see Nat and Bucky or just because you and I have never ever had one of these happy family Christmases?” 

“All of the above,” Bruce said, frowning when his glasses fogged up. He just waited it out, relying on the vague shape of Steve to be his guide until he could see properly again. 

“Can you put them in order of worst to least worst?” 

“Seeing Bucky and Nat is definitely the worst,” Bruce said. The last time he had spoken to either of them had been that day at his apartment when he’d told them to fuck off. It had only been three days since his and Clint’s chat so he hadn’t yet found the time to apologize properly and in person. Plus, he was sure this invitation had been revoked but apparently not. 

Tony was right—he and Bruce hadn’t ever had a proper Christmas. Tony’s parents were always gone for the majority of the day at some fundraiser or anything else his father could find to satisfy his need to be in the spotlight. Tony spent the holidays alone as a kid save for his babysitter. 

And Bruce… well. They had never even celebrated it. Bruce’s father tore down any decorations they managed to put up and usually his mother would give him a gift in secret after his father had fallen asleep. Even moving in with his cousin, he hadn’t been fond of the holiday, so in college he and Tony had come up with ‘let’s do shots and tell stories’ and that was what they had done every year up until now. 

“It’ll be fine. If either Bucky or Nat were upset, trust me, they wouldn’t have invited you,” Steve reassured him, turning in the darkness that was 4pm in December to give Bruce a smile. “And the actual afternoon will be fine too. We don’t sit around and sing or stick shit in stockings. We just eat. Eat and laugh and give gifts. The only thing that makes it Christmas is the day we choose to do it on, really.” 

“Huh,” Tony said. “Good to know. That sounds infinitely more welcoming. Will there be alcohol?”

“Do you really think the answer to that is no, babe?” Steve asked, looking down at Tony. 

Bruce drifted off into his own mind while the two of them teased each other and flirted. It was sweet, honestly. Heart ache or not, it was sweet. 

Which led Bruce to his next issue—Clint. 

This would be their first attempt at being friends again. Just normal, every day friends. Surrounded by couples. To think that if Bruce had been a little pushier or Clint a tad more forthcoming, they could have all spent the holiday as sappy, in love couples. Bruce wasn’t bitter about it but it would have been nice. 

But that just wasn’t the way things had decided to work and he could accept that because he knew what they were working towards and that made it all worth it. Plus, there was also the fact that this would be Clint’s first Christmas without Phil so he doubted it would have been a very joyous occasion anyway. Bruce was determined to be more mindful of the ways in which Phil’s absence might impact Clint’s life and to do better about not always assuming Clint’s bad mood was because of something Bruce had done. 

“I think we’re early,” Steve said as they walked up the steps of the brownstone. “I don’t hear Nat’s cackle.” 

“I’m so telling her you said that,” Tony said. 

“I hope you took out life insurance on me,” Steve retorted, opening the door to find Bucky and Sam coming down the stairs chatting. They looked up when their door opened and then came over to greet everyone. 

After hugs were exchanged, Bruce lingered in the entranceway. Tony turned to him but Bruce motioned for him to go on and Bucky understood, hanging back as well as the other three left them alone. 

Bruce stuck his hands in his pockets to keep himself from fidgeting. 

“I’m guessing Clint’s told you about our chat on Friday?” Bucky nodded. “Well, I owe you an apology. You and Nat both. That’s why you came to my place that day, isn’t it? To tell me about Phil?” 

Bucky nodded again. “I get why you reacted the way you did. Clint told me what he’d done and what you heard that day. It didn’t sound good at all.” 

“Yeah but I should’ve heard him out.” 

“Not a very good listener?” Bucky asked with a small, wry smile. 

“Not very good at anything when I’m angry. I’m working on it. Been working on it. Will probably always have to work on it,” Bruce admitted with a shrug. “But I’m sorry. For not listening and especially for how I spoke to you.” 

Bucky waved his hand dismissively. “We’re adults and that’s not the first time someone has sworn at me. Hell, that barely even counted. I’ve had much worse.” 

“So we’re alright?” 

“We’re good,” Bucky said with a more genuine smile. “Maybe we could even grab lunch sometime.” 

“Like work lunch?” Bruce asked, his eyebrows pulling together in confusion. 

Bucky snorted a laugh and said, “I really don’t like any of my colleagues. But I like you, Bruce. You’re part of the group and hey, maybe it’ll actually piss my colleagues off even more.” 

Bruce laughed, feeling relaxed. “Then yeah, I’d like that.” 

When Nat and Okoye arrived, they brought along Clint. Just as Bruce had assumed, he looked absolutely terrible. There was no sign of tears but his eyes were glued to the floor, hands in his pockets and lips tugged down at the corners into a deep frown. He looked like he hadn’t had a decent night’s sleep in a month and could probably use a hot meal. 

“Hey,” Bruce said to Nat first because he wanted to get that out of the way before anything else. “Can we t—”

Maybe Clint wasn’t expecting Bruce to be on time—they had been late literally every other time they had all done something together and it was usually because of Tony—or maybe he just wasn’t expecting Bruce to be there at all, but when he spoke, Clint’s dark eyes snapped upward and then focused on Bruce and the corners of his mouth suddenly weren’t pulled down so far and he gave Bruce the tiniest, sweetest smile. 

“Hi, Bruce,” Clint said. He didn’t move in for a hug or anything else. He kept his distance but those eyes were focused on Bruce and the smile lingered. 

“Hi, Clint.” 

“I’m glad you came.” 

Nat put her hand on Bruce’s shoulder and he snapped out of whatever spell Clint had him under and turned to her. Okoye led Clint into the kitchen where everyone else was. 

“Did you want to talk?” Her expression was serious, concerned, and Bruce swallowed nervously. 

“Yeah,” Bruce said, his hand coming up to grab hers. She smiled and looked down at their clasped hands. “Listen, I’m sorry—”

“Oh!” she said, laughing. “Is this about when Bucky and I came over?” He nodded. She patted the top of his hand with the one he wasn’t holding and gave him a gentle smile. “Bruce, it’s fine. Really. Now, come on. Let’s eat.” 

She held onto his hand and led him into the dining room where Bucky and Okoye were arguing over the food already. It felt familiar and put Bruce at ease at once. He settled into his chair and realized a moment later that he wasn’t beside Clint. He was in between Tony and Sam with Clint sitting across from him. 

Even so, Bruce looked over and smiled at him and Clint met his eyes but his smile wasn’t as sincere as it had been a few moments ago. Bruce had never in his life wanted to reach out and just hold someone as much as he wanted to do so with Clint. 

Nat and Bucky flanked Clint and both of them took turns keeping contact with him. A hand on his leg or an arm along the back of his chair and even though Bruce knew that they’ve always taken care of Clint and that Clint was theirs long before he was his, it warmed his heart to see him so well looked after. 

Dinner went the way Bruce had learned to expect from this group. Bickering, loud, obnoxious laughter, teasing, but lots of love for each other. This was only the third time they’d all eaten together but he felt right at home now, especially knowing that Bucky, Nat, and himself were back on good terms. 

They didn’t have gifts under a tree nor was there even a tree—Bruce had come to learn that Bucky was Jewish, although non-practicing—and Sam didn’t really care about the holiday, he just wanted them all together. So instead of sitting around a tree, they sat on the couches, alcohol in hand and talked and laughed, exchanging gifts. Most were gag gifts but some were more thoughtful items. 

Bruce wasn’t sure if it was appropriate—there didn’t seem to be very many hard and fast rules for enemies to friends to lovers to friends again—but he had something for Clint. Something he’d picked up in California. It was a gag gift too, a shirt he’d spotted Friday afternoon and bought on impulse for Clint. 

“This is for you,” Bruce said, leaning over Okoye to hand Clint the bag. Clint took it slowly, looking over at Bruce questioningly. “I got it when we were in L.A.” 

Clint’s confusion cleared with that statement and he reached into the bag. Conversations were happening all around the room, so no one was paying them any extra attention. 

Clint pulled out the t-shirt and held it out to read it, laughing as he did. The full, bright smile on Clint’s face added years to Bruce’s life. 

Clint nudged Nat to show her the shirt that read: ‘I didn’t come out of the closet, I came out of the cabinet like the rest of the pans.’ Bruce had seen it browsing a store and knew immediately that he had to get it for Clint. It had everything—it was really soft material, it was about pansexuals in the pan flag colors, and it was Bruce’s type of corny humor that Clint seemed to like. 

Clint clutched the shirt to his chest and smiled over at Bruce again. “Thanks, cu—Bruce.” His smile faltered but only momentarily. “I love it. Can’t wait to wear it. Here. This one’s for you.” 

Bruce took the box he was offered, not having expected anything in return, and opened it. He smiled first. And then he laughed. And then he actually covered his mouth and enjoyed a full body giggle that added another decade to his life. 

“Just what I needed,” he said, Tony leaning over and making grabby hands at Bruce’s box. Bruce handed it over and Tony chuckled too. 

Inside was a book entitled ‘How To Flirt With Men For Dummies’ but Clint had crossed out the word ‘dummies’ and replaced it with ‘a guy with a literal PhD.’ 

“Wait, did no one get a non-gag gift but me?” Steve asked, looking around at all of them. Steve had given everyone portraits he had painted of them. They were very good; Steve was incredibly talented. 

“To be fair, we told you to cut that out a while ago,” Okoye said, still wearing the curly platinum blond wig Sam had bought her. “But I do love my portrait. Thank you, Steven,” she added after seeing Steve’s pout begin to form. 

“You telling me you don’t like your gift from me, Steve?” Nat asked, batting her lashes innocently. 

Steve raised an eyebrow and lifted said gift into the air. “You got me a training bra.” 

“It’s about time you leashed those puppies, Stevie,” Bucky said, reaching over to smack his chest. “Okoye, what size are you? Maybe he can have some of your old bras?” 

Okoye smirked, always prepared to bicker with Bucky. “I’ll tell you my size after you admit that my roast potatoes were better than your Thanksgiving mash.” 

“You want me to lie? In my own home? In front of my husband?” Bucky countered dramatically and then they were off on another Who’s The Better cook argument. 

Sam and Natasha sighed and started talking over them, trying to engage Bruce and Steve in conversation while Tony talked to Clint. Bruce couldn’t help it. His eyes kept darting to Clint, wondering what they were talking about. Clint’s expression remained friendly and neutral except for the lingering sadness. Every now and then, Tony made him smile and Bruce was grateful for his friend. 

He hadn’t been sure of how the evening would go or what it would be like to spend half the day in the same room with Clint but it wasn’t nearly as awful as he’d built it up to be in his mind. It wasn’t easy being Clint’s friend but it was a hell of a lot better than not being his anything. 

  
  


+

  
  


Bruce spent New Year’s at home with Steve and Tony. None of them felt like going out because a) it was cold as hell and b) everywhere would be crowded. They’d called Nat about going to hers and she said it was so packed, she couldn’t even see the floor anymore, so that option was out. 

So they opened a bottle of champagne, got comfy on the couch with snacks and watched the televised ball drop, taking turns commenting on the musical acts and other performances. Ryan Seacrest interviewed the most and least prepared people—a young woman named Alisa in seven layers of clothing was most prepared and a young man in a t-shirt named Rick was least prepared. Steve and Bruce both shivered at the thought of wearing a t-shirt outside, let alone for eight hours at Times Square. 

When the ball dropped, Steve and Tony kissed—no big surprise there—but then Steve got up and sat beside Bruce who was just about to ask why, when Steve and Tony both pressed loud kisses to Bruce’s cheeks. Bruce blushed but thanked them, feeling loved and appreciated. 

His very next thought was of Clint and a few texts to Nat later he found out that he was with Sam and Bucky. He wasn’t alone. That’s all that mattered. 

+

  
  


January brought with it weather so cold and harsh that class was cancelled a couple times. Black ice covered roads and a few snowstorms hit, knocking out power and backing up traffic. 

On the days when it wasn’t too hard to travel, Bruce went to Nat’s. He was working on his second draft after getting feedback from Maria and his editor and he was in dire need of noise and chaos. 

It was Tuesday night, so Clint should be there. Good, he could get some writing in and check on him from a distance. He knew January must be the worst of all for him. Anniversaries spent alone and little reminders must not have even compared to the pain of the anniversary of his actual death. Bruce wanted to help as much as he could without overstepping, without blurring lines and making it more difficult for them both. 

But when he got to the bar, Clint wasn’t there. It was mostly empty due to the weather but still loud enough to help Bruce filter his thoughts although today it wasn’t working because nothing could filter out Clint from his mind. 

“Hey, want something warm?” Nat asked, sliding into the booth beside Bruce. 

“Actually, maybe a spiked hot chocolate wouldn't be bad.” 

“Baileys?” Bruce nodded. “Coming right up.” 

“Oh, hey, Nat?” She paused. “How’s he doing?” 

“Ah,” she said, pursing her lips, “not so great. Hasn’t been out of the house in I don’t know how long. He’s not coming tonight. If you were waiting for him, that is.” 

“Oh,” Bruce said sadly, looking away. 

“You know,” Nat began, coming closer again, “I know you two have this thing that’s working for you but you’re trying to be his friend, so be his friend.” 

“I don’t—what do you mean?” 

She gave him a small, knowing smile, patting his shoulder. “He likes his pizza with extra sausage and onions,” was all she said before walking away. 

Bruce watched her go, tapping his pen to his lips as he thought. That could only have one interpretation, right? 

  
  


+

  
  


“I know you have a key,” came the disgruntled response from the other side of the door. Bruce waited silently. “Nat, why didn’t you just—oh. Bruce.” 

Clint looked… awful. Bruce knew awful. He’d been there, still frequented it from time to time, and once even rented property in awful because he’d stayed so long, so he knew it when he saw it. He saw the dark circles from no or interrupted sleep. He saw the weight loss from a lack of appetite and the red-rimmed eyes from crying.

The urge to wrap his arms around him and assure him that everything would be okay was almost too much. He just wanted to lay Clint’s head across his lap and play with his hair until he drifted off, whispering sweet nothings into his ear and making him feel safe and loved. 

But they were friends right now. And he couldn’t. And he didn’t think that would have been the best move right at that moment anyway. Clint needed a friend. 

He could see inside Clint’s apartment and he was telling the truth when he said he didn’t have much. At least from what Bruce could see there was a couch, a television on a stand, a coffee table and there was a lamp beside the couch but it was sitting on a plastic chair. 

“I—” Clint began, not sure where to even begin. 

“Can I come in? I brought pizza. And I have beer.” He lifted the boxes as if needing to show proof and then wiggled so the beer bottles in his backpack clinked together. 

“I don’t… why are you here?” 

“Because we’re friends. And friends don’t let friends mourn alone.” 

“Bruce… but this is about Phi—”

“I happen to remember a certain someone who not only listened to me rant about my ex and her wedding but also encouraged me to go and get closure or even to confess my nonexistent undying love for her. That was insanely unselfish and caring of you. Allow me to return the favor.” 

Clint’s mouth fell open and he seemed to search for words but in the end he moved aside and let Bruce in. 

Free from his fifteen layers of winter clothes, Bruce set up their food and drinks on the coffee table. Clint sat down beside him in silence and Bruce wished for the first time in his life to be a telepath. 

Clint watched him open the boxes and Bruce noticed him lean forward a little to check the toppings. 

“Extra sausage and onions,” Bruce said, pointing to the first box, “and double cheese, pepperoni, and mushrooms.” Which was his order. He grabbed his backpack and pulled out the beers, opening the first one and handing it to Clint. 

Clint grabbed it and eyed it. “You don’t like beer.” 

“Not really,” Bruce said, opening his bottle and lifting it as he turned to Clint, “but you do. Cheers.” 

“What are we toasting to?” Clint asked, his expression darkening. 

“To friends,” Bruce said, tilting his bottle forward. Clint hesitated but then repeated the toast quietly and clinked his bottle against Bruce’s, taking a sip. Bruce coughed, wiping his mouth on his sleeve and Clint grinned. “Ugh, that’s gross.” 

“You don’t have to drink it,” Clint laughed, and boy, Bruce was feeling accomplished. “I appreciate you forcing yourself to drink beer for me.” 

“Oh, no, you don’t,” Bruce said, pulling the bottle away when Clint reached for it. “This is mine. I may not drink another but I’m getting through at least one. Hand me that.” 

Clint looked over at where Bruce was reaching and pointed to the remote. Bruce nodded and he gave it to him. 

“I know you must be so interested in this episode of…” he trailed off as he went to the guide to find the name of the show, slowly turning to Clint when he did, one eyebrow raised judgmentally. “Really?” 

Clint breathed out a laugh. “It was here when I turned it on so I left it.” 

“Oh, Clint,” Bruce said, clicking off of Keeping Up With The Kardashians and scrolling until he found the SyFy channel. “Here we go. Mega Shark vs Giant Octopus. A perfect b-movie.” 

Bruce pulled his pizza box onto his lap, trying to be as casual about this all as possible and not make it weird or make Clint feel weird because those were both within the realm of possibility and also both very easy to do. 

“I have plates, you know,” Clint said, amusement in his tone. 

“Really? I wasn’t sure, what with this lovely side table and all,” Bruce said with a grin, gesturing to the chair with the lamp on it. 

“How do you come into someone's house and insult their decor? You’re a guest,” Clint emphasized, giving him a pointed and mock-disapproving look. 

“I brought food and beer though.” 

Clint’s eyes narrowed, going back and forth between their dinner and Bruce until he finally sighed. “True.” He stood and went to the kitchen to grab plates and cutlery. 

“Are we really gonna eat pizza fancy?” Bruce asked. “I mean, who uses a fork?” 

Clint glanced over his shoulder and seemed to have a moment of internal debate before looking down at his hands and then dropping the cutlery back into the drawer and coming over to sit down and pull the box onto his lap. 

“I don’t know what came over me there. Forks. For pizza. I think I just got so excited to show you I owned a normal house item that I forgot how pizza is supposed to be eaten,” he said, folding a slice in half like a taco and sliding it into his mouth. He took a huge bite and chewed happily, sighing. 

It occurred to Bruce that he hadn’t seen any pile up of delivery food anywhere nor dishes in the kitchen. He wondered when Clint’s last meal was but he would figure that out later. Right now the goal was to put him in better spirits. 

“This is really good. This from around here?” 

“No, sorry. It’s from near me.” 

“Aw, that sucks.” 

“Why? Just come over and we can do this on my couch next time and I’ll order some more.” 

Clint paused, fidgeting with the remainder of the slice in his hand. He turned to Bruce. 

“Thank you, Bruce. Really.” 

“There’s absolutely nothing to thank me for. Everything I’m doing is exactly what I ought to be doing,” Bruce told him decisively. “And what I want to be doing.” 

Clint stared at him a moment longer and then gave him a smile. It was small but there was warmth to it and it was a definite improvement. 

About an hour into the movie, Bruce glanced at Clint sidelong. He knew that look. The last thing on Clint’s mind was the movie in front of them and it wasn’t like Bruce was expecting him to start on a five-page detailed essay about the film the moment the credits started rolling, but the last thing he wanted was for Clint to feel lonely when he wasn’t even alone. 

He could see his glazed over eyes and the downward turn of his lips, the subtle twitch to them that let Bruce know he was holding back powerful emotions. 

“Clint,” Bruce said softly and Clint crumpled immediately, his hands coming up to his face as his shoulders shook and he sobbed into them. 

For once in his life, Bruce didn’t let himself overthink. He reached over and he pulled Clint against his chest and held him tight, letting him get out the tears and the pain. He rubbed his palm soothingly over his back but didn’t speak. He didn’t know what this pain felt like—Betty hadn’t died and certainly not right in front of him—so he stayed quiet, offering the comfort of his embrace until Clint was reduced to silent tears and the occasional hiccup. 

When Clint finally pulled away, he lifted his shirt to wipe his face, his cheeks and under his eyes bright red and puffy. His lashes were wet and tangled and his blue eyes were tinted red. 

He reached for his water and downed it, staring at the floor for a moment and Bruce didn’t interrupt whatever process he was going through. He let out a deep, somber sigh and wiped his nose on his sweater sleeve, sniffling loudly. 

“I probably shouldn’t apologize for that, right?” he asked, trying for a smile but it trembled and fell before ever truly becoming one. 

“Definitely not,” Bruce said firmly, reaching over tentatively and then steeling himself and placing a hand on Clint’s shoulder. Clint reached up and covered it with one of his own, turning to Bruce with his heartbreaking expression. 

He opened his mouth to speak but Bruce beat him to it.

“You don’t have to keep it in, you know? You can talk about him. Tell me about him?” 

“You sure? Last time I mentioned him you broke up with me,” Clint said, but he didn’t even seem to have the strength for bitterness. The words came out drenched in misery and anguish and only made Bruce’s heart ache more. There was no anger. 

Bruce’s grip on Clint’s shoulder tightened slightly and Clint met his eyes. “I’m not here as your boyfriend. Just your friend. And even if I was here as your boyfriend I’d want you to talk if it helps. You can tell me about him, Clint. It’ll make you feel better. You can tell me stories you’ve told a million times but they’ll be brand new for me. You can tell me what you loved most about him. What you loved least. You can tell me about what you miss, what things hurt most.” 

He maintained eye contact, keeping his voice level and firm. He wanted Clint to know that he meant it. Every last single word he meant. He wanted to know what Phil had done to earn Clint’s love like this and maybe Bruce could even stand to learn a thing or two. He wanted Clint to feel like he could tell him anything just like he did with Phil and it wasn’t to compete with Phil, but to try and patch up the hole in Clint’s heart that his death had left. 

As much as was possible, Bruce didn’t want Clint to hurt anymore. 

“Bruce, are you sure?” 

“Hundred percent.” Bruce pulled his hand back and sat cross-legged on the couch, reaching over for another piece of pizza and watching Clint expectantly. “Okay, I’m ready for the stories.” 

Clint’s smile, although still small, was much more apparent this time and lasted longer. Bruce was taking any little win he could get. 

“He was a huge nerd,” Clint began and Bruce raised his eyebrows in surprise. “I suppose I have a type,” he added with a quiet chuckle. “He loved obscure history facts and vintage cars. Any twentieth century spy-memorabilia would light up his face like a kid on Christmas. I remember I took him to the KGB museum downtown once on a date and he—” Clint paused, his eyes lifting from where they had focused on Bruce’s knee to his eyes. There was a sort of mischievous sparkle to them that Bruce hadn’t seen in far too long. “Well, he was very grateful.” 

“Oh,” Bruce said in realization and Clint laughed. 

“Yeah,” Clint said, still smiling. “A huge nerd but a total badass. Especially when it came to work. Kinda like you.” 

Bruce spluttered, trying to find the words and get through his surprised laughter. “Me?”

“Yeah, you. Need I remind you again that if Nat hadn’t come over you’d have totally kicked my ass? And you went toe-to-toe with Nat and Bucky and told them to fuck off.” Bruce winced and Clint waved away his lingering guilt over that. “It’s impressive, is what I’m trying to say. But anyway…” 

Clint carried on talking about Phil. His hobbies, the things about Phil that he remembered the most especially at random times throughout the day. He talked about Phil’s car, which he had named Lola, and the way he always settled everyone down whenever tensions were running high, sleep was running low, and arguments broke out in the firehouse. 

Bruce listened attentively, not just nodding perfunctorily but truly reacting to what Clint was saying, making mental notes of things to avoid talking about or to start talking about more. Not necessarily things to make him a better boyfriend one day but to make him a better friend now. 

For instance, Valentine’s Day was out. Clint had spent Valentine’s Day two years ago with Phil at the hospital after they responded to a call and containers of chlorine exploded onsite. Clint’s vision had been affected and he’d spent a few weeks recovering, all the while terrified that he would be deaf and blind. Not to mention the subsequent flashbacks to the event behind him losing his hearing. 

He learned so much about Clint through his stories and descriptions of Phil. He liked the left side of the bed. He hated runny egg yolks. He loved watching trash television on national holidays, ordering junk food, and pigging out all day on the couch wrapped in blankets. 

He occasionally slipped into more serious stories and discussion of much more sobering topics and dislikes but he didn’t get hung up on them too long. He might space out for a second or two, sometimes stammer when a particular memory struck a significantly painful chord—Bruce always made a very large mental note of those moments and their related topics—but for the most part, the rest of the evening was quite painless. 

He’d also learned that he and Phil did indeed have a lot in common. Not just the nerd factor or the being passionate about what they do, but Phil was big on helping out his community. He’d volunteer for anything and everything, even forging Clint’s signature and then waking him up at the crack of dawn to go re-roof someone’s house after a storm. It was the kind of thing Bruce had done constantly before he worked at the university and when he was in Brazil. It was the kind of thing he wanted to start doing again, although perhaps something requiring less construction skills and more layman skills. 

He and Phil both told corny jokes. They were both smaller than Clint. They were both fiercely protective of those they cared about and not the type of person you wanted to be on the wrong side of. A lot of the things Clint mentioned about Phil, Bruce felt he could apply to himself or had even heard Tony say about him before. It wasn’t a one hundred percent match, but the overlap of qualities was significant. 

Though, Bruce found that he didn’t mind at all. All the things that he and Phil had in common were positive qualities, attractive qualities. They were the ones that made Clint’s smile the warmest and that he talked about the most and Bruce had them too. Honestly, he knew he was there to comfort Clint, but this was inadvertently working both ways. 

It was nearing midnight when Bruce checked his watch. Clint’s head was in his lap on a pillow and Bruce had one hand rested on Clint’s shoulder. At first he had had a quick ethical discussion with himself about the repercussions of their current position on the couch but in all honesty, he would do this with Tony. Hell, he’d even do it with Nat. 

“How long are you gonna stay?” Clint asked and Bruce startled, having assumed he was asleep. 

“How long do you want me to stay?” 

The word forever hung unspoken in the air between them and made Bruce swallow hard and calm his heart. Clint never answered so Bruce rephrased. 

“Would you like me to stay the night? I can sleep on the couch. It won’t bother me.” 

“You sure?” Clint asked and Bruce could hear the improvement in his tone. 

“Very sure. You wanna sleep now?” 

“In a few minutes.” Silence fell between them again but it was thick and heavy and Bruce sensed more words looming on the horizon and then the mood changed as Clint said, “My clothes are going to make you look eleven.” 

Bruce laughed but he knew in his gut that Clint had wanted to say something else initially. But he ran with it. “I’ve been working out. I might just fill them out.”

“Have you?” Clint asked, lifting his head to look at Bruce and give him a swift appraisal. He looked doubtful. 

“Your entire expression is rude and, no, I haven’t but you could’ve at least humored me.” 

“Oh, sorry. Wow! Take a look at those quads!” Clint poked Bruce’s leg. “Like trying to poke a cement block.” 

  
  


+

  
  


It became a regular thing. Bruce would go to Clint’s with comfort food and drinks, find a crappy movie that could entertain them and also easily be talked over, and they would just do whatever felt best in the moment. 

Sometimes that meant just eating and watching the movie. Sometimes Bruce had to gently encourage Clint to eat more than a few bites and other days his appetite was back in full swing. 

Other times it meant non-stop talking. It wasn’t always necessarily about Phil. Some days and sometimes only for a few minutes the topic switched over to him but other times Clint wanted to know about work, or about Steve and Tony. He asked Bruce how his thugs were doing because Clint had taken some time off work. Bruce had actually spoken to them about his situation with Clint. That conversation had gone like this Monday morning after his lecture: 

“You seem to be in a better mood, PB,” MJ observed cautiously, weary of Bruce lately as he hadn’t had the best patience the last few weeks. 

“I am,” he answered, a small smile on his lips. 

“Can we ask why?” Ned wondered, Peter elbowing him for his utter lack of tact. 

Bruce pondered the question for a moment and then decided that since he knew they weren’t asking out of nosiness but genuinely out of concern, he would answer. 

“Clint and I are friends again,” he told them, all three exchanging a look, each with a different emotion attached. 

“Did he… did he hurt you?” Peter asked hesitantly. 

“Yes but it was two-sided. I lost my temper and didn’t give him a chance to explain. It was unintentional on his part. We’re working on it.” 

“Oh thank god. So we don’t have to be mean to him? Because I’m not really made to be mean to people,” Peter said. 

“He’s really not. The other day this dude cut in front of him at the cafe and Peter said ‘thank you,’” MJ told Bruce who couldn’t stop his chuckle. 

“Sounds like something I’d do,” he admitted. “But, yes, please be nice to him. He’s going through something difficult.” 

“Aw,” MJ said and for once it didn’t sound sarcastic but rather sincere. “We’re on it.” 

“We’ll look for him whenever he comes back to campus,” Ned promised. 

“Yeah, and we’re happy things are better with you two again,” Peter added. 

  
  


+

**February**

It wasn’t long after that that Clint did come back to work. The first time Bruce noticed was at one of his Wednesday lectures. He had turned to commend a student for their answer and noticed the movement at the top of the auditorium. There was a chair right up at the top in the corner by one of the entrances. He looked up at Clint and smiled, turning to continue his lecture. 

It went on like that for a while. Every Wednesday without fail and then at random other times during the week he might pop in and listen to some or all of the lecture. Bruce thought it would make him nervous or distract him but it had the opposite effect. Clint’s presence was soothing and whenever he did actually lose his train of thought, he would look up at him and find his place a few seconds later. 

Normally Clint left before class was over but once he stuck around and the trio went up to talk to him. MJ lightly punched his shoulder and smiled at him, while Ned cracked a joke and Peter, the sweetheart, actually stepped in and hugged him. Bruce was going to go up but decided to let them have their own moment with him. He watched Clint smile and knew he was alright with them. 

The following Wednesday, MJ came in with two coffees and sat one down on Clint’s usual chair and then took her seat. She looked up at Bruce who was watching her with a warm smile and she tipped her coffee cup at him and grinned. After that the trio took turns bringing Clint a coffee or baked good and leaving it on his chair for him. If Bruce could have, he would’ve passed all three of them based on that alone. 

  
  


Bruce continued to go to Clint’s house on a weekly basis or have Clint come to his and some nights they even went to Nat’s bar instead and spent the evening there. Clint was doing better. He still had his days or moments where he felt distant but with January having come and gone, it wasn’t quite as hard. And he and Bruce were drawing closer as friends. 

He hadn’t expected it, honestly, and he wasn’t even sure why not. It made sense. Perfect sense. Of course he and Clint could get closer, would get closer. They had only scratched the surface of what they knew about each before they started dating and now? Now he felt like he had discovered a whole new side of him. It was as refreshing as it was exciting. 

They had started to go to lunch together again. Sometimes they went to Marcia’s but they had also changed it up a little. Some days they grabbed a bite from Josue’s truck and ate outside, other days they went to the school cafe and got themselves something and chatted there. They kept it easy and fun during lunch and things got deeper and heavier when it was just the two of them on weeknights. 

Though they had done a much better job than either of them had thought they could in regards to keeping things on a platonic level. Only once had Bruce slipped and called Clint ‘babe’ in the last two months. Clint was in the kitchen and Bruce was on the couch, a silver screen horror movie on the television—the kind with bats on strings and bright red paint for blood—was playing and Bruce had asked for a glass of water, calling Clint babe. 

They both froze for a few seconds before Bruce laughed it off as well as he could, cleared his throat and apologized. Clint didn’t comment, he only brought over the glass of water and they resumed the film without ever addressing it. Bruce thought it was better that way anyway. It never came up nor did it hinder their friendship progress. 

  
  


+

  
  


**March**

  
  


The year was beginning to wind down and everyone could feel it. There was pressure to complete papers and projects, internal assessments and coursework were due and although exams weren’t for another two months, stress and anxiety levels were running high among students and teachers alike. 

Bruce was getting some of the most worrying questions in his inbox. Things that he was sure he had gone over thoroughly in December but apparently were unclear for some students even now. He was organizing a lot of extra revision sessions with any students who wanted to join and had the time and he would post recordings of them for those who couldn’t. 

He was working on his third draft of his book for Maria and was frustrated with some of the editor notes made because they were altering the plot a little too much for his liking. So he was trying to find a way to keep his idea but make it fit what the editor wanted. It felt like a losing game but he refused to give in easily. 

He and Clint saw each other a little less lately and that was honestly the worst part of it all. He could handle the stress of making sure his students were prepared—he’d been doing that for years—and he could handle the draft but less Clint in his life was taking the heaviest toll. 

When he finally found time to do something other than respond to emails and wrack his brain for a fitting alteration to his book, Clint was busy, so he found himself instead having lunch with Tony and Steve which wasn’t a bad thing but Bruce just missed Clint. 

“Can you believe that?” Tony asked, scoffing as his eyes slid over to Steve who blushed and shoved him playfully. 

“Huh?” Bruce asked, lost in his thoughts as he stared out the window and tried to think of a good study outline for his students. 

“How much of that story did you miss?” Tony asked. 

“There was a story?” 

“Oh, Bruce-juice,” Tony sighed and started over again with his and Steve’s adventure yesterday to the animal shelter. Tony wanted a cat, Steve was indifferent to pets but not against them so he had tagged along to see what Tony might choose. Tony had picked up an adorable little ginger tabby and cuddled it, handing it to Steve next to make sure they got along. Steve had held the cat for all of three seconds before he started trying to clear his throat and then the sneezing started. “Can you believe that?” 

Bruce chuckled, looking at Steve who seemed embarrassed about it all. “Why would you hold it if you’re allergic?” 

“He didn’t know!” Tony exclaimed and Steve’s blush deepened. “How have you gone thirty-five years of life without knowing you’re allergic to cats, Steven?” 

“None of my friends have cats,” Steve said defensively, crossing his arms over his chest and pouting just the tiniest bit. 

“And you’ve never hooked up with someone who had cats?” 

“Maybe, but I always just assumed it was my asthma acting up.” 

“Steve…” Tony sighed again and Bruce laughed watching them. “I guess we’re getting a fish.” 

“Or one of those hairless cats.” 

“A minion of satan putting its ballsack body on me? I don’t think so,” Tony responded immediately. “How about a dog? Are you allergic to dogs? Would you even know if you were?” 

Steve’s pout intensified. “I’m fine with dogs but one of us would have to walk him and I wouldn’t want to but I already know you won’t.” 

“He’s right,” Bruce said, taking a bite of his sandwich. “Maybe you guys should get a hamster or something?” 

“Domesticated rats? I could just catch my own in the subway and teach him to read,” Tony countered. He turned to Steve. “Can’t you get like a shot or something?” 

“Tony,” Bruce chided.

“What?” he asked but quickly gave in. “Fine. I guess I don’t want my boyfriend sneezing himself to death.” 

“Thanks. I feel the love, babe,” Steve drawled, rolling his eyes and stealing an onion ring from Tony’s plate. 

Tony and Steve continued to discuss their pet predicament but Bruce found himself zoning out again, making plans. Clint had mentioned dogs before. Clint had mentioned dogs a lot. He wondered if he would enjoy a trip to a shelter. 

+

  
  


Bruce couldn’t find time in his schedule to take Clint so he made time. He rearranged a few student Q&As and absolutely refused to fill that time block with anything else until Clint confirmed whether or not he was busy. 

“Aw! Look at that one! Bruce!” Clint gasped, moving from cage to cage to peer in at the dogs, old and young alike. So far every single dog had been ‘perfect’ and ‘the cutest.’ Bruce didn’t even argue, he just enjoyed the pure joy on Clint’s face. 

They had arrived about twenty minutes ago and Bruce, despite not really being an animal person, was enjoying every second of it. Clint knew every breed and was able to guess a lot of the mixes pretty accurately. It was impressive and adorable all in once, which he felt was a good description for Clint over all. 

“Bruce! Look! He’s got spots on his ears, oh my god,” Clint said, smiling and waving at the dog who had noticed Clint and was wagging its tail and making its way to the window that divided them. The dog pressed his nose against the glass and Clint looked pretty close to doing the same. “I love you and you’re beautiful,” Clint told the dog and Bruce wasn’t sure whether he wanted to laugh or propose. Why was Clint so precious? 

At the next cage, there was a small brown dog with curly hair running in circles, his tail wagging excitedly. 

“Aw, if he was mine I’d name him Bruce,” Clint said, watching the dog in amusement. 

“Why?” Bruce inquired, assuming it was because of the curly brown hair. 

Clint looked up at Bruce with the biggest grin and said, “He’s small and weird.” 

“I can’t stand you,” Bruce said, walking away but smiling once his back was to Clint. 

They spent another thirty minutes there making sure they didn’t miss any of the dogs and Clint even made a stop to see the cats but didn’t linger long. 

“Did you know Steve is allergic to cats?” Bruce asked as they left, headed in no particular direction, just walking along the street together. 

It was nice out. The sun was warm on their faces despite the cool breeze that blew through the city. 

“I didn’t. How do you?” 

“Tony took him to look at cats last week and then Steve found out he’s allergic to cats. So Steve didn’t know Steve was allergic to cats either.” 

“Steve’s such a himbo sometimes,” Clint chuckled. So Steve was a himbo after all. “How do you not know something like that?” 

“That’s what Tony wanted to know.” 

“Yeah, I bet. Hey,” he said, looking around, “do you wanna grab dinner? I mean, you know. Friend dinner.” 

  
  


+

  
  


**April**

**May**

**June**

“I’m so glad the year is over. I’ve never been this stressed before in my life and I’m not even taking the damn exams,” Bruce groaned, sitting across from Bucky in the latter’s office, both eating empanadas Bruce had picked up on his way to Bucky’s building. 

Bucky wiped his mouth and leaned back in his chair. “Tell me about it. I had a student email me in the dead of night worried about the final. I think it was anxiety-induced because it barely made sense.” 

“Poor kid. How’d they do?” 

“Top marks,” Bucky said with a grin. “They’re a strange one but Wade Wilson really knows their stuff. One of my best students.” 

“Happy to hear it,” Bruce said, closing his eyes as he finished his last empanada. He put his glasses on Bucky’s desk and rubbed his tired eyes. 

He was full and calming down now that the last batch of exams were over. He could only imagine how the students felt although he knew their worries would stretch on until they got their results. 

“So,” Bucky began. 

Bruce waited and when he didn’t carry on, Bruce opened one eye and then lifted his head to look at him. “So?” 

“Just tell me when I’m prying where I ought not to but, you know, he’s one of my best friends. I can’t help but wonder. How’s it going with you guys?” 

“We’re taking things slow. Getting to know each other more.” 

“Mm-hmm,” he said, indicating that he wanted more than that. 

“Well… are you capable of keeping things from him?” 

“Only person I won’t keep anything from is Sam so carry on.” 

“Now that the stress of finals is over and I finished the book—”

“You finished it?”

Bruce nodded. “Gave in the final draft yesterday actually.” 

“Wow. Why didn’t you say? We should be celebrating.” 

Bruce breathed a tired laugh. “Ah, I’d rather just not think about it for a few days actually.” 

“Got it. Continue.” 

“Right. So, now that that’s all done with, I was thinking of asking him out again.” 

“Oh?” 

“Yeah, there’s this new movie coming out that he keeps mentioning so I was thinking of getting two tickets and then maybe dinner somewhere, take a walk afterwards and see what happens,” Bruce told him. The only other people who knew about this plan were Tony and Steve. 

Bucky nodded slowly. “I think he’d like that.”

Bruce raised his eyebrows, his expression unimpressed. “Give me more, Barnes. I know you two must talk about this.” 

“What more is there? He loves you, Bruce, but you know that. I think at this point he’d be happy if you asked him out on a date to a sanitation plant. I know you had stuff to work through and so did he but it’s not like he stopped loving you,” Bucky told him. “Did you stop loving him?” 

“W-what? No,” Bruce stammered but then found his confidence. “No way. No, never. I just… I dunno.” 

Bucky waved away Bruce’s negative thoughts. “Yeah, I know. You overthink and it’s unnecessary. Ask him out. We both know he’s going to say yes.” 

  
  


“Yes,” Clint said before Bruce had even gotten the rest of his sentence out. “A million times yes. Movie? Okay, sounds good. What movie?” 

“That action-y one you’ve been talking about for the longest time.” 

“Oh, nice. Even better. And then dinner?” Clint asked over the phone. Bruce was walking home and Clint was getting ready to go to work for the night shift. 

“Yes, dinner.” 

“Should I wear, like, a jacket? Is it fancy dinner?” 

“Do you want fancy dinner? We could also just go to Shake Shack.” 

“Yes, please.” 

  
  


Bruce honestly couldn’t even remember what the movie was about, he was too excited and nervous. He’d spent the entire film glancing at Clint, wondering if Clint still enjoyed his company as much as Bruce did his, wondering if and how and when certain relationship things could and would happen. His brain was working on high-speed and Clint caught onto it at dinner. 

“So whatcha thinking about, professor?” 

Bruce’s mind paused and closed all open tabs to focus on Clint and Clint alone. “I… this is new territory. Again. I don’t want to mess up.” 

“You mess up? Did you forget that I’m that one that got us into this mess?” Clint asked, laughing but it was sad and a little shaky. 

Bruce reached across the table and grabbed Clint’s hand, squeezing it. 

“That’s done and gone. It doesn’t apply to us anymore,” Bruce told him. “What matters is going forward.” 

“For someone in new territory you’re pretty damn good at navigating through it.” Clint let out a shaky exhale. “Should we talk relationship stuff?” 

Bruce nodded. “Yeah. You wanna start?” 

  
  


They spent the rest of their meal talking about how they wanted to proceed. How quickly would they move, would they just skip back into their old rhythm or start over completely. They discussed Phil and how Clint was feeling about it all. 

“I think I figured out my problem,” Clint said once they reached that subject. They were having milkshakes now, both sitting on the same side of their booth, pressed up against each other. 

“What was it?” 

“Guilt.” Bruce nodded solemnly. He knew a thing or two about guilt. “I mean, I knew I felt guilty about his death but I… I didn’t realize I felt guilty about falling in love with someone else.” 

Bruce remained quiet, sensing Clint had more to say. 

“I don’t anymore though. I know he wouldn’t want me to live my life miserable and alone. He’d want me to be happy and loved and love someone else just like I’d want for him, or for you,” Clint told him, taking his hand and lacing their fingers together. “But I don’t have doubts or worries about what and who I want anymore. Just excitement.” 

He looked up at Bruce who smiled softly at him. They stayed like that for a minute, just staring into each other’s eyes, smiling and feeling warm and happy. 

“You think it’s too early?” Clint asked. 

Bruce shrugged. “If this was our first date ever sure,” said with a soft chuckle, “or if we’d never said it before but, uh… I’d like to hear it if you wanna say it.”

Clint smiled. “I love you, Bruce.”

“I love you too, Clint.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just another reminder that ch12 is an epilogue and will be up in a few days.   
> Hope you’ve enjoyed this story, ups and downs and all.


	12. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint's POV

Clint stretched, feeling the movement all the way down to his toes, and then relaxed with a deep, contented sigh. He turned his head to see a mess of chocolate curls peeking out just above the blanket and then rolled, wrapping his arms around their owner and pulling him closer. 

Bruce stirred but didn’t fully wake, fitting perfectly against Clint who pressed a kiss to his hair and closed his eyes, lingering there. 

Just over a year into this relationship and he still couldn’t quite convince himself that he wasn’t still dreaming when he woke to find Bruce in the bed beside him, sleeping soundly. After Phil, he never thought he would find a love like that again. The love that he and Phil shared seemed like a once in a lifetime thing and at the time Clint had been surprised that he had managed to find it so early on in life or at all. Losing that hit hard. 

Then along came Bruce. 

At first it was just a fascination with this handsome man he had never seen before. Who comes to a loud, crowded bar just to sit in a corner by himself and write? Surely there were better places to do whatever he was doing. And after he had asked Nat about him only to get a firm “leave him alone,” he was only more curious. 

As per usual for Clint, he’d screwed up his introduction and their next few interactions but all he cared about now was the fact that Bruce was his. He wasn’t sure exactly what he had done to deserve to have found Bruce, to have found love like this again, but he was decidedly never letting him go. 

He pressed a kiss to Bruce’s forward and Bruce shifted in his arms, raising a hand to sign, ‘Five more minutes.’ 

“Okay,” Clint conceded, having the day off but Bruce didn’t. He had a lecture at 10am and another this afternoon and it was almost eight-thirty now. “Five minutes and that’s it. I’ll go start the coffee.” 

‘No,’ Bruce signed twice and Clint chuckled softly, staying put. Bruce’s ASL had come a long way though Clint wasn’t surprised. Someone as smart as Bruce? He almost expected him to speak it better than Clint did by now. ‘Stay.’ 

“Okay, I’ll stay but then you’ll have to get up _and_ there won’t be any coffee.” He felt Bruce grumble against his chest, not sure if he’d actually spoken or just groaned but he smiled. “Actions have consequences, cutie.” 

Bruce grumbled again and tilted his head up to look at Clint, his curls flat on one side of his head and wild on the other, his brown eyes wide and warm and Clint couldn’t have stopped himself from kissing Bruce if he tried. 

Bruce was smiling as Clint pulled away, his eyes closed, and then he let his head fall against Clint’s chest. Clint rubbed his back and hugged him tight before letting go again to tell Bruce he needed to get up or he would be late. 

Clint reached over to his bedside table and put in his hearing aids and suddenly the world had sound again. He laughed when he realized Bruce was grumbling about Clint having the day off and then Bruce looked over, squinting because he didn’t have on his glasses. 

“What are you going to do on your day off?” he asked, having spotted the hearing aids. He sighed heavily and threw the blanket off of him, swinging his legs out of the bed and stretching his arms high above his head. Clint saw an opportunity and took it, leaning over to trail kisses down Bruce’s spine. 

“Mm, dunno. Probably hang out at Nat’s and annoy her, swing by Okoye’s bakery and pick us up some goodies. Anything you need me to do?” 

Bruce stood and turned, yawning, “Meet me and Bucky for lunch?” 

“I’ll have to see if I can pencil you in. Didn’t you hear how busy my day is?” 

+

  
  


On the days when Clint did work, he always made sure to stop by Bruce’s lecture hall and listen in for a bit. He didn’t always pay attention to what Bruce was saying, he just enjoyed watching him teach. 

His usual seat was always there for him at the top near the entrance and even now, he occasionally found a coffee or other treat there waiting for him. This afternoon there was a KitKat and as he opened it as quietly as possible, MJ turned around and smiled at him. 

Bruce, who was standing in the middle of the floor, his hands moving as he spoke excitedly about whatever they were learning today, looked up briefly. He must’ve noticed MJ, who had taken another of Bruce’s classes this year, turn and now he and Clint made eye contact. Clint grinned, lifting a hand to wave at him and he bit back a chuckle as he watched a blush color Bruce’s ever-tanned cheeks. 

“As—as I was saying,” Bruce continued, looking up at Clint once more before getting back on track with his thought. 

A few of Bruce’s students looked up to see him there and some waved. Most of them knew him by now since he stopped by so often and, if the blog was anything to go by, everyone loved their relationship. They even had a couple name: ‘Bannarton.’ Bruce didn’t like it but Clint thought it was sweet. 

Clint bit the KitKat, continuing to watch Bruce as he moved now to his smart board to write something down. Watching Bruce when he was in his zone, talking about something he was clearly passionate about, made Clint fall more in love with him. 

Sometimes, when he was having a particularly shitty day, he would come and stay for as long as he could before he needed to get back to work. Hearing Bruce’s voice, watching his animated expressions, and chuckling at his corny jokes had yet to fail to improve Clint’s mood and Bruce seemed just as refreshed by his presence. 

Today wasn’t a shitty day, but it was a slow one so Clint stayed for the entire lecture, occasionally taking pictures or recording small clips of Bruce being adorable. Some he would keep for himself and others he might just post to the blog from the account he’d made a while back as Bruce’s secret admirer although they all knew it was him. 

“Great lecture,” Clint said as he reached the bottom of the steps and went over to lean against Bruce’s desk. 

Bruce snorted, gathering his things. “Oh yeah? What was it about?” 

“English.” 

Bruce gave Clint an unimpressed look. 

“Well, am I wrong?”

Bruce sighed. “I’m just disappointed you don’t come to my lectures to learn, Mr Barton. That’s going to be reflected in your grades.” 

Clint raised an eyebrow and slid closer, resting his hand on top of Bruce’s. Bruce’s eyes flashed up to meet his, trying for innocence but more than a year into their relationship Clint knew there was nothing innocent about Bruce except for those duck mittens. 

“Oh? Well, maybe there’s something I can do to improve, professor.” He looked Bruce up and down. _“Anything.”_

The professor and failing student roleplay had never been one that did it for Bruce until the fake student in question became Clint. 

“Well, Mr Barton, that’s an interesting proposal. Perhaps you could—screw it, let’s go make out in my office.” 

Clint’s calm expression crumbled as he laughed. “Getting straight to the point, huh? You used to really commit to the part, you know. Asking about extra credit and everything.” 

“Well, I’m helping out in the writing lab in half an hour so that’s all the time I have to kill and I didn’t want to waste it talking.” 

“You? Don’t feel like talking?” Clint pressed a hand to Bruce’s forehead and he swatted it away. “Well, I mean, I’m not gonna say no to kissing you. Let’s go. Give me that.” 

He reached out and took Bruce’s laptop and folders, carrying them for him. Bruce linked his arm in Clint’s and they walked down the hallway together. 

“What do you wanna do for dinner tonight?” Clint asked as they walked. 

“Mm,” Bruce said, thinking. “Japanese?” 

“You just wanna watch me struggle with chopsticks again, don’t you?” 

  
  


+

  
  


“Uh-huh, yeah, thanks it just arrived. No, I don’t want him to know just yet,” Clint said, cradling his phone between his ear and shoulder and holding the delivery he had just received. 

“Okay, we’ll let me know what you think of it anyway, it hits shelves next week.” 

“Wow, so soon?” 

“Yep, your boyfriend’s got his boxers in a knot worrying about how it’s going to do,” Maria said, cars honking in the background. 

“Briefs,” Clint said without thinking and got an appropriate response from Maria. He smiled. “But yes, I’ll let you know what I think and try to settle his nerves as well. Thanks again for this.” 

“No problemo. Taxi,” she yelled into the phone and Clint winced and grabbed the phone to hold it away from his face. Why was Maria always so loud on the phone? “Anyway, catch you later, Barton. We still on for the game next weekend?” 

“Sure are. I’ll see you at Nat’s. Steve’s going all out with his jersey and face paint, just so you know.” 

“If he thinks he can out-fan me, he’s got another thing coming,” Maria said. “Just you wait.” The car door closed. “But anyway, I’ve got another call waiting.” 

“Bye, Maria,” Clint chuckled, hanging up. 

Once a few months ago, she had called looking for Bruce who was in the shower. This was not long after Clint had moved in and he answered for Bruce who occasionally stressed about missing important calls. Maria answered, demanded to know who Clint was and why he had Bruce’s phone. One thing led to another and by the time Bruce was in his pajamas coming to find Clint, he and Maria were locked in a heated Giants versus Jets discussion. 

Ever since then, she and Clint texted and chatted on the regular, met up at Nat’s bar to watch big games where she’d met Steve who was also just as passionate about sports and his teams. 

Now Clint looked down at the package Maria had had sent to him. Bruce was out with Tony since he didn’t work today and Clint had the night shift, so he quickly opened the package, disposed of it so Bruce wouldn’t find it and made himself comfortable on the couch. 

Bruce’s book was going to be released officially next week but Maria had sent Clint an early edition. Bruce didn’t know about it. He had a strict rule about having his own books in the apartment. Neither his novels nor the few academic textbooks he’d written were allowed because he couldn’t stand the sight of his own work, oddly enough, so Clint would have to be secretive about this but he was dying to know how Bruce had used him. 

He checked the clock. Bruce said he’d be home around four, which meant Clint had two hours to himself before he had to hide the book. 

He opened it up and dove in. 

**Bruce:** hi, do we have milk 

Clint startled, so deeply immersed in the story that the sound of his phone buzzing scared him. Just like Bruce’s last two books, the writing was amazing. His world-building would always be something that blew Clint away and the action sequences! Clint found himself holding his breath when Ronin leapt off buildings firing arrows behind him while calculating the best way to land on the next rooftop. 

Sometimes, he would miss and land in a dumpster and that part, which happened early on in the story, made Clint laugh, imagining a pissed off Bruce writing about his then-rival Clint Barton landing face-first in a dumpster. 

He turned the book over to mark his place with his knee and grabbed his phone to see who had texted him. He checked the time when he saw Bruce’s name. 

“Oh shit,” he said, leaping up and grabbing the first piece of paper he could find to use as a bookmark. He shoved the book into his work bag and zipped it up, putting it back by the coat rack at the door. 

Bruce would be home soon. 

**Clint:** only a little and we’re out of oat milk. can u also get my cereal pleeaaaaaaase thank you

 **Bruce:** lol sure [kissy face] home in a few ! 

Clint looked around the apartment. It wasn’t messy but a little tidying never hurt anybody and a clean home always lifted Bruce’s mood. He went over and turned on some music, shuffling one of Bruce’s playlists and smiling when _Need You Tonight_ by INXS came on. Bruce was such an 80s kid. 

In any case, Clint bobbed his head and danced around the room as he tidied, putting away dishes and opening the windows. The novelty of Bruce coming home to him still had not worn off even after seven months of living together. 

Living with Bruce hadn’t been a huge adjustment either. By the time Bruce asked him, Clint was already spending ninety-eight percent of his time here and the only change was his work commute, which was cut down by twenty minutes. Of course they bickered and irritated each other from time to time—Bruce was so fussy about where things had to be and Clint rarely remembered where the things should go—but overall, it was just… right. 

Everything about falling in love and being with Bruce simply felt right to Clint. 

By the time Clint was finished tidying, Bruce still hadn’t made it home, so he sat down on the couch, fully intending on watching tv until he arrived, but his body had other plans and he drifted off into a nap only to wake to Bruce standing in front of him, smiling softly. 

“Aw, my sleepy baby,” Bruce cooed, and Clint stretched, grinning and reaching out for Bruce. 

“I missed you,” he said, grabbing at his shirt and tugging him forward. 

Bruce plopped down onto Clint’s lap, straddling his waist, and Clint rested a hand on either thigh and gave them both a firm squeeze, looking up at his Bruce who’s cheeks were dusted with a faint blush. Clint and Tony had both figured out that despite their boyfriends both being rather kinky, they still blushed during things like this. 

“I missed you too,” Bruce said, smiling shyly. He leaned forward and wrapped his arms around Clint, burying his face against his neck. 

Clint closed his eyes and let out a soft sigh, enjoying the feeling of Bruce’s small kisses all along his neck and on his shoulder. After a moment, Bruce sighed too but stayed where he was, his full weight rested against Clint and it was a welcome, anchoring feeling. He felt safe, loved, and wanted. 

Despite everything he had been through and all the bad in his life, Bruce was still an incredibly affectionate man, especially where Clint was involved. Clint knew that a part of that was just Bruce’s nature but another part of it was Bruce knowing how much it meant to Clint. 

Bruce and Clint had vastly different relationships with touch, something they had discussed one night over tiramisu and a bad horror movie. Bruce avoided touch if he could help it unless it was initiated by someone on his exceptions list. With someone from that list he didn’t even mind initiating it himself. 

Clint, on the other hand, craved touch. Nothing calmed Clint more quickly than a hand on his shoulder. Nothing cheered him up faster than a hug or a quick kiss. Words were nice and all but how Clint especially liked to be praised or shown affection, was by touch—a pat on the back, a high-five, a loving embrace. 

One would think this might put them at odds at times—the man who could live without touch and the one who couldn’t—but it did just the opposite. It brought them closer and Bruce was beginning to crave Clint’s touch. 

“This is a nice hug. Not a good day?” Clint asked after a full minute had passed and Bruce had yet to move or say anything. 

“No, it was nice,” Bruce mumbled against Clint’s neck and he smiled. “I just haven’t seen you all morning. By now you would’ve hugged me at least ten times. I’m making up for my losses.” 

“Oh, well, in that case,” Clint said, his arms around Bruce tightening and he lifted his chin to rest on Bruce’s shoulder. Bruce chuckled softly and Clint’s hands rubbed his back in small, slow circles. 

“What did you do while I was away?” 

Clint’s eyes immediately darted over to his bag by the door with its contraband contents and he smiled, grateful Bruce couldn’t see his face. 

“You know, very important stuff. Slept in, had the rest of my cereal so thanks for coming through and replenishing my supply.” 

“So important,” Bruce emphasized and Clint could feel his smile against his neck. He turned his head to press a kiss into Bruce’s curls, one hand coming up to slide his fingers into his hair. He scratched his scalp lightly. 

“I cleaned too, don’t know if you noticed the utter lack of dust.” 

“I did. I walked in and my allergies were cured.” 

“You’re welcome.” Bruce’s body shook as he laughed and Clint grinned, wanting to see the way his face lit up when he laughed. “As much as I’m enjoying being your chair, I’d like very much to kiss you now, professor.” 

Bruce pulled back enough to look at Clint, his smile wide and his eyes little half-moons. God, Bruce was beautiful. From his head to his toes, there just wasn’t anything Clint didn’t love. And those eyes especially. 

Those big, warm brown eyes like melted chocolate that turned into the most irresistible honey in the sunlight. Something about those eyes made Clint weak at the knees every time they were turned his way, even when Bruce was angry. 

“Um, I’m waiting on my kiss,” Bruce said, puckering his lips playfully. 

Clint’s smile was warm and jam-packed with love and it caught Bruce off guard. 

“What?” Bruce asked. 

“Nothin’,” Clint said, his eyes moving over Bruce’s face. “Just got distracted, is all.” 

“By what?” Bruce asked, looking away momentarily. 

He did that sometimes. When he knew Clint was admiring him or stuck in thought about him, he would ask. He’d do his best to make it sound innocent, like he really didn’t think it could be about him but Clint knew he knew. But he didn’t mind. 

It had once crossed his mind that Bruce was only pretending to be unaware of how he looked or how much his students adored him, fishing for compliments. It didn’t take long for Clint to realize that he genuinely was unaware. And so when Bruce mustered up the courage to actually ask for his unspoken compliment, Clint always obliged, happy to give Bruce the confidence boost he deserved and shower him in affection. 

“Your eyes. Your face. You.” 

Bruce’s blush deepened and Clint leaned in quickly to press a kiss to his warm cheek. 

“What—” Bruce began, swallowing nervously and sometimes Clint found his nervousness in their relationship endearing and other times it made him even more determined to build Bruce up. He wanted Bruce to feel safe and sure asking Clint anything. “What exactly?” 

Clint reached up and cradled Bruce’s face in his hand, his thumb stroking across his cheek slowly. 

“Everything?” he said with a soft laugh and Bruce smiled and leaned more into the touch. “You’re so beautiful to me, Bruce. To anyone I’m sure but when I think about that for too long, it makes me want to get you one of those ‘if found, please return to Clint Barton’ shirts ‘cus you’re mine, buddy boy.” 

Clint booped his nose and Bruce laughed, falling forward to rest his forehead against Clint’s shoulder. Clint’s hand moved into his hair again. 

“I love these curls. I could play with them all day,” he added, doing just that as he curled his finger around a particularly springy strand and watched it bounce.

Clint did his best to never start his compliments and reassurances with things like ‘as you know’ or ‘like I’ve said’ because he didn’t want Bruce to feel like repeating himself or doing this was a burden on Clint. Clint knew that as both an expert over-thinker and an English professor, Bruce put more emphasis on word choice than the regular person. He didn’t want to discourage Bruce from asking for validation when he needed it or even simply wanted it. That’s what Clint was there for—to make him feel good about himself and Bruce had never skimped in that regard when it came to complimenting Clint. 

And on days like today when he could tell that something had happened that had made him especially self-conscious, Clint was honest but lighthearted. He wanted Bruce to feel loved and to laugh, the best medicine. 

“I love this too,” Clint said, “I really, really do.” His hands traveled down Bruce’s body until they were rested on his sides, his fingers gingerly latching on to Bruce’s love handles. 

Bruce had put on a few pounds since they had been together—Clint had too—but it bothered him more. And whereas Clint was just happy he could help Bruce eat more regularly, he knew how Bruce struggled with his body image. 

“No, you don’t,” Bruce said quietly, so quiet that Clint’s hearing aids almost didn’t pick it up. 

“Yeah, I do.” 

“Clint.” 

“Bruce.” 

Bruce leaned back to look Clint in his eyes. Clint could see the sadness there now. Bruce had hid it so well before. He wondered what had brought this on but figured he’d ask later. 

“You wanna take your shirt off so I can bite them?” 

A surprised laugh bubbled up out of Bruce. “What? Why?” 

“Because that’s what you do with delicious things. You bite ‘em.” 

Bruce rolled his eyes. “Seriously, Clint.” 

“No, no, I’m dead serious. Also about biting your sexy little body but mainly about loving this sexy little body.” 

“You had to throw ‘little’ in there, didn’t you?” He rolled his eyes again but there was a smile on his lips. Clint was winning this battle against those stupid, mean voices in Bruce’s head and now it was time to crush them completely. 

“Cutie-pie, you’re five foot six, I think there are certain Disneyland rides you can’t get on.” Bruce grinned and Clint moved forward to kiss him, his hands moving back up to hold Bruce’s face in place. 

He used one hand to pull Bruce in even closer, resting it low on Bruce’s back, and the other he kept on his face, his fingers splayed across his cheek as he kissed him and then kissed him some more. 

The hand on Bruce’s face travelled downward and came to rest on the top button of his shirt, tugging lightly while he waited for permission. Bruce’s hands moved up to find the button and he undid it. Clint undid the rest until Bruce’s shirt was hanging open and Clint now had easy access to his chest and stomach. 

He moved away from his lips despite Bruce’s protests and pressed kisses to Bruce’s chest, trailing them down to his bellybutton. He pushed the shirt off further as he came back up, kissing along Bruce’s side, and then finally he pressed a long kiss to his shoulder, lingering there and genuinely just enjoying the warmth and softness of his skin, the uncontaminated smell of Bruce that put Clint at ease. 

Clint lifted his head and was met with a much softer, much happier look on Bruce’s face. He felt accomplished. 

“You’re amazing, you know that?” Bruce asked, his hands holding Clint’s face between them now. 

“Me? Oh, well, birds of a feather, you know?” 

  
  


+

  
  


“What are you reading, Clint?” Thor asked, tossing popcorn into the air to catch in his mouth. So far he had caught two and the rest were on the floor of the small room that had been allocated to the security guards. 

Clint sighed, so invested in Ronin’s fight with the Tracksuit Mafia that he didn’t want to put the book down but he did, not wanting to be rude. 

“Uh, it’s Bruce’s latest book.” 

“Ooh,” Thor said, sitting up. “And? How is it?” 

Clint stuck his finger in the book to mark his place and sat up properly as well, gathering his thoughts. 

“It’s really, really good.”

“It’s about you, yes?” Thor asked, filling his mouth with more popcorn. 

“Yeah. Well, no. Not _about_ me but the main character was inspired by me but actually…” Clint trailed off, thinking about all of the things he had noted about Ronin since he’d started reading the book. 

The longer he read the book, the more he realized how Bruce was slowly incorporating Clint’s actual personality and mannerisms into Ronin’s character. He didn’t mind it—in all honesty he was incredibly honored by it—he just wasn’t expecting it after Bruce had said he and Ronin barely had anything in common. 

“Actually?” Thor prompted and Clint was brought back to the moment. 

“Actually, whether he realized or not, Bruce put a _lot_ of me into this.”

Clint could tell which chapters were written during their rougher periods and which were written during their first attempt at dating. He could also tell which were written during their re-getting to know one another period too. Those portions were softer, more gentle. Ronin had been hurt in a fight and a neighbor had taken pity on him and come to help, no questions asked. 

The neighbor, and Clint felt pretty confident that it was a bit of a self-insert of Bruce, was kind and funny and warm, everything Ronin needed in his life. He would do small acts of kindness for Ronin that never went unnoticed and once Ronin was back on his feet, the neighbor still never strayed too far, always checking in. 

The neighbor would leave meals in tupperware in the fridge, he’d air out Ronin’s apartment if he noticed he’d been gone a while, or he’d check in if Ronin was home and hadn’t left in a few days. It so far hadn’t developed into anything beyond the platonic—which wouldn’t be surprising because Bruce tended to bash romance in his other two books—but Clint kind of hoped it would. 

“And you… like that, right?” Thor asked, his hand halfway to his mouth with another handful of popcorn. 

“Yeah,” Clint said, “I do. I love it.” 

  
  


+

  
  


Nowhere on campus felt safe for Clint to read without fear of Bruce suddenly materializing or being spotted by Bruce’s thugs who would inevitably let it slip to Bruce that Clint was reading his book, if not take the book from him and read it themselves. He liked them but he also feared them, especially MJ. 

The only somewhat secluded spot was the security guard’s office but every time he hunkered down to read in there, Thor had no less than five million questions about the book or seventy-five thousand different anecdotes about his hellish baby brother who lived with him. There were only a few times in Clint’s life when he craved quiet and the time he spent reading Bruce’s books—this one in particular—was definitely one of those times. 

So he had sought out the only place where he figured he could read in peace without risk of Bruce finding out before he was done. 

“Something to drink?” Tony asked, coming out of his home office in sweats and a ratty Metallica shirt. Clint had found out that Tony worked from home most of the time and only went into the office to present or for meetings he absolutely couldn’t attend virtually, so he’d ask if he could crash for a couple hours and finish the book. 

“Huh?” Clint asked, his brain trying to process the question while still on story mode. “Oh, yeah, thanks.” 

“No problem,” Tony said, bringing him a glass and then staying there at the end of the couch, typing away furiously on his phone. “Almost finished?” 

“You need me to leave?” 

“No,” he said, putting the phone down and looking up at Clint, “I just wanna know how it is.” 

Tony didn’t need Clint to explain why he needed a secret reading location. Tony understood and all he had done was nod his head at Clint’s request. Tony knew how Bruce was about his work. Not only the ‘nothing by me in the house’ rule but also the way Bruce would undoubtedly spend his free time breathing down Clint’s neck waiting for Clint’s opinion and over analyzing every micro-expression on Clint’s face while he read. It would be unbearable. 

“I’ve got another…” He thumbed through the remaining pages. “Three chapters.” 

“Not bad. You started Monday?” 

Clint nodded. 

“And what’s this business about?” Tony pointed to a line Clint had highlighted in green and Clint explained his system. “Oh, he’s gonna love that.” 

“Right?” 

He was on the seventeenth chapter now, three more to go, and he had been taking notes on his phone as he went. He had also been doing something that he knew Bruce would probably consider sacrilegious but seeing as he was already breaking a major rule just having the book in their apartment, what was one more? 

As he went along, he was highlighting, underlining, and making notes in the book. Green were his favorite parts, purple were things that were so clearly Bruce and his way of thinking or his corny humor, and red highlights were parts of Ronin that were very clearly more than just Clint’s physical likeness and those parts he secretly loved the most. 

He was hoping that being the nerd and sentimentalist that he was, Bruce would appreciate that more than he would be appalled by it. Tony seemed to agree so that definitely made him feel better about it. 

“How is it th—”

“Hey, Tony, have you… seen Clint,” Bruce finished after a moment, standing in the doorway. 

Thankfully Tony’s body was blocking Clint’s lap from Bruce’s sight, so he quickly tucked the book away into the couch and sat up, trying to think of a good reason for being there. Clint glanced at the clock and sure enough, a good two hours had passed since he’d gotten to Tony’s. It was time for Bruce to be back home from his afternoon lecture. 

“You’re here. Why are you here?” 

“Well, you weren’t home so I thought I’d come over here and we could keep each other company,” Clint said at the same time that Tony said, “He asked me to fix his phone.” 

Bruce frowned and Tony and Clint looked at each other quickly, trying to telepathically decide on a reason. 

“I wanted company and couldn’t get my emails to work so Tony said he’d fix it,” Clint decided and Tony nodded, looking over at Bruce. 

Bruce didn’t seem convinced and crossed his arms over his chest, frowning deeper as he looked between them. “Please no surprises. You both know I hate surprises.” 

“No surprises,” Tony said at the same time that Clint said, “Pinky promise,” and held out his pinky. Bruce inched his way into the room, seeming nervous and distrustful, to link his pinky with Clint’s. 

He bent to press a kiss to Clint’s cheek. 

“I still don’t trust whatever’s going on here but I guess I just have to live with it,” Bruce said resignedly. He plopped down onto the couch beside Clint and looked up at Tony. “Should we order food? Where’s Steve?” 

“Food sounds good,” Tony said, looking at Clint who sneakily slipped him his phone to keep up their alibi. “Steve’s working. Won’t be home till tonight. I’ll save him leftovers.” 

  
  


+

  
  
  


“Gosh, you know, some authors, man,” Clint said, the book tucked neatly under his arm, still concealed by the cover. He had finished it last night after pretending to use the bathroom in the middle of the night and reading the last chapters. 

Bruce lifted his head, his glasses on his head tangled in his curls. He squinted, looking over at Clint who was coming out of the bedroom. 

“What?” he asked, taking another bite of his oatmeal. 

Clint lifted the book and gave it a shake as he made his way to the kitchen to pour himself a coffee. 

“Some authors so obviously have a thing for their characters and you can tell,” Clint said, sipping the fresh brew Bruce had made. Delicious as always. “You know,” he began as he turned to see a very perplexed Bruce. 

Clint bit his tongue, trying not to coo at the expression of utter confusion on Bruce’s sleepy face paired with his messy curls sticking up in all directions, especially the strands around the glasses. 

“You know,” Clint tried again, “sometimes you’re reading a book and the author is talking about their protagonist and you just _know_ that if they could, they would totally let their protag rail them into next week.” 

Bruce raised a single eyebrow and Clint wasn’t sure what was going on in that genius brain of his, especially seeing as it was still fairly early and Bruce did not do well first thing in the morning. Bruce raised a hand to rub over his face, his fingers scratching in the beard he had been growing. It was still in its early stages but the salt and pepper strands in it tended to short-circuit Clint’s brain. 

“So, what have you been reading lately?” 

“Oh, you know… just stuff.” 

“Clint,” Bruce began, putting down his spoon and giving Clint his full attention. 

Clint walked over to the kitchen table and placed the book down in front of Bruce, sliding it towards him. The outer cover—a cotton, slip-on sleeve—was a dark green with purple flowers on it. Sam had made it for Clint. 

“What’s this?”

Clint just waited for Bruce to remove the cover and when he did, he watched a number of expressions flash across his face before finally settling on mild irritation. 

“Clint, why do you have th—oh, god, Maria gave it to you, didn’t she?” 

Clint nodded. 

Bruce was quiet for a moment, as if deciding whether or not he wanted to be angry at Clint for breaking the book rule. “And you read it?” The anger was fading and becoming anxiousness. “Did you like it?” 

“Loved it. Every last bit. This was… not to be narcissistic but this was your best one yet.” 

“Narcissistic? Because I based Ronin off you?” 

“Using that word kinda loosely, aren’t ya?” Clint sat down and opened the book to the first page. “Please don’t be upset but…” He turned the page and immediately there were underlined portions and highlights and Bruce’s eyes widened. 

Bruce took the book into his hands, pulling it close, and Clint slid the key across to him so he could understand what all the different colors meant. Bruce’s anxiousness melted away and revealed a warm smile. 

“Clint… your annotation is excellent,” Bruce said in his professor voice, looking up at Clint with a playful grin. 

“Oh? My note-taking skills getting you all fired up? Well before we get to any of _that,_ I’d like to address the Ronin in the room.” 

Bruce blushed. 

“‘Just your likeness’ my ass,” Clint laughed, and Bruce blushed deeper. “You know he’s me, right? Like, through and through?” 

Bruce nodded. 

“Oh, really? So it was intentional?” 

“Well, a lot of it started _before_ I got to know you. I was just writing down a personality that appealed to me. How was I supposed to know that you were gonna show up and be perfect and shit? That’s on you.” 

Clint laughed, taking Bruce’s hand and giving it a gentle squeeze. 

“But you really like it? And you don’t mind Ronin being so… you?” 

“I love it, cutie. I really, really do. And are you kidding? Next Friday that book hits the shelves and millions of people are going to be unknowingly reading what’s basically a love note to me from you? I don’t know if I wanna go down on you or propose.” 

Clint laughed but looked up when he noticed how quiet Bruce was.

“What?” 

Bruce just stared at him and then swallowed, looking away. “I, uh, um.” He loosened his shirt collar as if he couldn’t quite breathe and then looked up again. “Sorry. I know it was just a joke but it caught me off guard.” 

“Wha— _oh._ I mean… It wasn’t _totally_ a joke. I feel very confident that I would one day ask you if you didn’t ask me first. Would you want that?” 

Bruce nodded, holding Clint’s hand with both of his now. “Yes, very much so.” 

“You’d wanna marry me? You like me or something? Oh my god, Bruce, do you have a _crush_ on me?” Clint teased, watching the red color come back to Bruce’s cheeks in full force and Clint grinned. 

Bruce rolled his eyes. “You are a menace.” 

“Yeah,” he said, reaching across the table with his free hand to poke Bruce’s nose, “but I’m _your_ menace.”

Bruce sighed. “Yes, yes you are. Now tell me more about how you liked the book.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay on this last chapter. My brain was in full-on angst mode and this was supposed to be nothing but sugar-filled fluff. Hope you've enjoyed this series! Thanks for reading and a big thanks to the few regulars leaving comments. Gosh, you all have really made my month. ^_^


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